


Sea Dogs

by LetItRaines



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-06-20 09:12:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 46,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15530997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LetItRaines/pseuds/LetItRaines
Summary: Emma Swan and Killian Jones met as children and have been friends ever since, learning to navigate all of life's ups and downs together. They've always known that when they have no one else, they have each other. It's been a constant in their lives, so when their futures are up in the air, will that constant stay the same?





	1. Chapter One

“Do you remember if I was wearing earrings at dinner last night?” Emma questions as she rummaged through her closet looking for her favorite pair of leggings. “I can’t find those white circular ones that dangle a little. You know, the ones I wore to Marg’s engagement party? She wants to wear them at the rehearsal dinner.”

 

“Mmm, love,” Killian hums, “you had your hair down last night. I didn’t get a good look at your ears like I normally do.”

 

She turns around to look at him through the door, finally finding her leggings and pulling them on in her closet while Killian sits on the bed doing some sort of mechanical engineering assignment. She never really knows what it is he is doing. He explains it sometimes, and while she can understand the basics, she kind of just plays along and pretends to get it. She is pretty sure he knows that she fakes it, but what can you expect? She’s spent three and a half years getting a degree in Elementary Education. She spends half her days “learning” how to write lesson plans – which, hell, are an actual nightmare – and the other half telling 30 8-year-olds that just because she’s not their main teacher doesn’t mean that they don’t have to listen to her. She pretty much tells Killian the same thing everyday too.

 

“You’re such a smartass,” she finally tells him.

 

He looks up from his work and grins at her, raising an eyebrow, and she already knows what he’s going to say next.

 

“And you have such a good ass. Probably why I didn’t happen to notice your ears last night.”

 

She rolls her eyes good-naturedly at him, used to his constant flirting by now. It’s basically his second language, the romantic fool. And if it makes her heart feel like it’s going to exit her body at any moment, no one has to know that but her.

 

Because damn.

 

“They’re at my place, Swan,” he continues, ignoring her eye roll. “You left them there when you stayed over after your date last week. Said they hurt your ears.”

 

Killian immediately looks back down at the laptop and starts typing something out. She’s glad because her pale skin starts to blush thinking about that night, and she knows that the blush reaches down her chest, where he can clearly see because she hasn’t put on her sweater yet.

 

The date was terrible, truly. Probably the worst one since her first date in high school, and that boy had tried to grab her boobs while in a TGI Friday’s…with her foster mom a booth away. This guy, Walsh, had shown up late, immediately told her that her boobs looked great – which, admittedly, they did; you just don’t say that when you’ve known a girl for ten minutes – and then proceeded to bore her to tears while continuously staring at her chest. She shivers just thinking about how he keeps trying to get her to go out to dinner with him again, despite her giving all of the signals of _never_ wanting to be in the same room as him again.

 

_Men._

 

“Please don’t ever mention that night again.” She groans, walking out of her closet after throwing a sweater on over her tank top and pulling her hair into a high ponytail. “You were my actual savior coming to pick me up and letting me stay over so I didn’t have to take the drunk bus back here. That’s always a nightmare, even when you’re not drunk.”

 

“I believe your ‘drunk bus’ is actually called the campus security shuttle, my dear. And you know there’s always a place for you in at my apartment, in my bed specifically. You need only ask.”

 

He smiles at her, as he wiggles those damn eyebrows of his suggestively. It’s one of his ear-to-ear grins. The one that makes her remember that her best friend is just so handsome with his impossibly blue eyes and dark hair and megawatt smile. She feels those familiar butterflies in her stomach from moments earlier, and she just wishes they would go away before she says something reckless.

 

Like I’m in love with you.

 

That would be bad.

 

But also not.

 

But also just incredibly bad.

 

Instead, she smiles before she scoffs, “you wish.”

 

She thinks she hears him mumble “perhaps I do” under his breath but is distracted by the car horn blaring outside.

 

“That must be Robin,” Killian says, shutting down _her_ laptop and putting it into _his_ – not her – bag. “Grab a scarf, love. It’s bloody cold outside and just because we’re getting a ride to campus now doesn’t mean we’ll have one this afternoon.”

 

Before she can even turn to locate a scarf, he’s wrapping a fluffy white one around her, squeezing her arm gently, and she can’t help but have the butterflies flicker back to life (did they ever die?) when she thinks about why he mumbled that “perhaps I do.”

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Emma and Killian have been friends since they were 11. Well, Killian 11, Emma 10. She likes to remind him that he’s older.

 

“By 3 months, Swan” he always mumbles, “3 months. You act as if it’s 300 years.”

 

They met in the summer between elementary school and middle school because their moms – his real and her foster – signed them up for the same free summer programs at the Y. They were the only ones older than 6 and became fast friends, especially when they discovered they were both going to be in sixth grade at Franklin Middle.

 

Killian, his mom, and his brother Liam had just moved to Portland from England, and they didn’t know a soul.

 

Emma changed that.

 

Emma changed a lot of things for Killian, actually.

 

She was his first real friend outside of his brother. She was basically his only friend besides his brother. She was nerdy, like him, and she made him realize that it was okay to like math and science along with liking baseball, his newfound sporting love when he discovered that Americans don’t play football the way he does. Nerds could like sports. Nerds could be good at sports. Hell, great at them. And British men could like America’s favorite pastime.

 

They navigated middle school together.

 

And high school.

 

And now college.

 

She was his own personal cheerleader in everything he did from age 11 – “you’re so much older than me, Kil” – and his own personal shoulder to cry on when Liam joined the Navy at twenty two and moved away the day after Killian’s fourteenth birthday.

 

She helped him apply to colleges because no one in his family had ever done anything like that before. No one in hers had either. At least she didn’t think that anyone had. Who knows? Her biological parents could have attended Harvard, but she’d have no way of knowing.

 

It didn’t matter. They could figure it out together.

 

They always did.

 

She hugged him so tightly when he found out he’d gotten accepted to university with a full academic scholarship that he thought his heart would burst from joy.

 

It didn’t.

 

It did, however, when she said she got in, too.

 

Emma changed a lot for Killian. This is true. She probably doesn’t know that though. She also probably doesn’t know that he’s in love with her, has been since he saw her blonde ponytail and big green eyes that first day at the Y.

 

Gods, he hopes she doesn’t know that he’s pined after her for 11 years.

 

But, Gods, he also hopes that she does.


	2. Chapter Two

Something hairy was rubbing against her leg.

 

Or was she dreaming that?

 

When did she get a cat?

 

Did she even like cats?

 

It had been such a long night. She was too old – not really (not at all) but it feels that way with tequila coursing through her veins – to go out drinking with Mary Margaret and Ruby and have to wake up before noon. It’s like your body starts to betray you the minute you can legally drink.

           

She snuggles a little closer into her pillow. Except, this is definitely not her pillow. It’s way too firm. She opens her eyes quickly, thrown off by the utter darkness of the room.

 

Until she sees white teeth smiling at her and the hairy thing stops rubbing against her bare leg.

           

“Good morning, sunshine,” Killian whispers at her, reaching over to rub her back as she burrows back into the pillow, thankful that she hasn’t woken up in some random guy’s apartment. “I know that it’s early and you hate early, but we’ve got to go to the airport.”

 

“I hate early,” she repeats, nuzzling further into the bed and into Killian’s chest.

           

He’s so warm she wants to just permanently take up residence right here.

 

Is that weird? Probably.

 

He continues to rub her back soothingly. “I know you do, sweetheart. That’s the whole reason you stayed over last night after you girls decided to celebrate one of Mary Margaret’s last nights of so-called freedom. We both knew you’d be hung over and would never make it for our flight.”

 

“Damn Ruby for having us do that last night,” she whines. “We should have done it months ago so that I didn’t have to suffer like this.”

           

He leans down and pulls the comforter off her face, giving her hair a kiss before untangling himself from the sheets and from her body. She feels the loss of warmth immediately and misses how much heat his body produces. She groans before flipping over onto her back.

 

“I hate you so much, Kil.”

 

“You don’t.”

 

She doesn’t.

           

“I do. And Marg. And David. And Marg and David for being stupid in love and getting married in freaking Georgia. They’re not even from Georgia, Killian. Just Marg’s stepmom is. And because of that I have to get up at –“ she looks over to his bedside table for the alarm clock she doesn’t know why he has, he wakes up with the sun, “ – 4:03 in the morning to fly there so that I can stand in a strapless dress and freeze because it’s February.”

 

“I’ve seen you in that dress, Swan. Your discomfort is a cross I’m willing to bear,” Killian interrupts, wiggling his eyebrows.

 

She throws a pillow at his face.

 

“Why couldn’t they just get married here? Inside preferably because don’t even get me started on how fucking cold it is here” she continues, spreading out like a starfish over the bed as Killian slips on his jeans. “Then I wouldn’t have to have taken two days off from my internship, which docks my pay, and I wouldn’t have to be spending a weekend awkwardly sleeping in Marg’s dad’s house. I walked in on him fucking Marg’s stepmom last summer when we visited, do you remember that? I couldn’t make eye contact for the rest of the week, and now I have to spend a whole extended weekend with them.”

 

She throws her arms over her eyes, being just _slightly_ melodramatic, and thinks she could fall back asleep like this when she feels the bed dip and feels warm hands move her arms away. Even in the darkness, she can see the blue of his eyes.

 

“Swan, while I’m sure the sight of our friend’s parents doing the horizontal tango –“ she glares at him, “- was scarring, it’s not like anyone is going to bring it up. And your eyes won’t be subjected to that again because we’ve learned to knock on doors, aye? But your best friend is getting married to the love of her life. You would stand in a blizzard shoeless for her if you had to.”

 

“You make a valid point,” she quietly admits.

 

“I always do.” He takes her hands and pulls her to sit up right. “Now come on, Swan. Get dressed in the next ten minutes, and I’ll buy you breakfast, hot chocolate included, at the airport.”

 

Killian leans down and kisses her hair again before getting up to no doubt double check his packing list. He’s so anal, she thinks, before reluctantly getting out of bed and changing into her favorite black jeans and white oversized sweater, the promise of hot chocolate warming her almost as much as the thought of her roommate getting married in three days.

 

* * *

 

 

He buys her three hot chocolates before their flight takes off.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Mary Margaret’s dad opens the door before Killian can even knock.

 

“Killian, my boy,” Mr. Blanchard bellows, pulling Killian in for a hug he wasn’t expecting. “It’s so good to see you. So excited you and Emma could be here this weekend.” He pauses, looking around for Emma. “Where is that lovely lady of yours?”

 

Killian blushes and scratches behind his ear, not bothering to correct him because Emma is anything but his, as much as he wishes it differently. “She’s, ah, on the phone with Mary Margaret, telling her what the weather is like since she and David aren’t leaving until a little later. Apparently your daughter is concerned about what white outfits she should wear leading up to the big event.”

 

Mr. Blanchard nods like he understands this, guiding Killian into the house and only closing the screen door so Emma knows just to let herself in when she gets off the phone. He guides Killian up the stairs while asking about their flight and school and plans for the future, possibly Killian’s least favorite conversation.

 

Finally, they stop at the end of the hallway. “You can put your bags down in here. I think my wife told me to set you and Emma up in this room. You can take a minute to relax. I know traveling can just be so exhausting, especially when you get on such an early flight.”

 

Killian nods, thinking about how he wishes he had more money so he didn’t have to take such ridiculously early flights, and Mr. Blanchard leaves the room, likely getting ready to go into work, which is just now starting for anyone who works a 9 to 5.

 

God, they got here early.

 

Stupid airline prices.

 

Killian stretches out on the bed, tucking his hands behind his head and closing his eyes and thinking about this weekend. He knows it’s not a big deal for he and Emma to share a bed. They do it all the time. Hell, they did it just a few hours ago. There’s just something different about it now because they’re not at their apartments. They’re at someone’s house. At a wedding. It’s just different.

 

Fuck, Killian wishes things were different with he and Emma.

 

Killian must have fallen asleep without realizing it because all of the sudden he jerks awake and big green eyes are staring at him, her elbows perched on his chest, hand trailing along his necklaces.

 

“Well good morning, sailor,” Emma grins at him. “Seems like somebody can’t take his own advice and wake up.”

 

Killian rubs his hand across his face, both in agitation over being woken from his nap and frustration of waking up to her body pressed so tightly on top of his.

 

“I tell you I want to buy a boat one time –“

 

“Ship,” she interrupts, moving her hands from his necklaces to the hair at the nape of his neck.

 

That makes him feel both alive and dead all at once.

 

“- Good point, love. Though I cannot afford a ship, merely a boat that’s two inches long and made of plastic. I tell you that one time, and you call me sailor constantly.”

 

She continues stroking his hair as she says, “Killian, you’re going to be some fancy engineer. You’ll be able to buy yourself that _ship_ someday. And you can take me and my very poor elementary school teacher self out on it to sail around the world when I can’t listen to any more children tell me about Paw Patrol.” She pauses before adding, “Captain.”

 

Killian hums in agreement. This is the most relaxed he’s felt in days.

 

Weeks.

 

Years.

 

His entire life.

 

“I promise I will, Swan.” He pauses, listening to see if there’s anyone else in the house. “What time is it, love?”

 

She pulls her phone out of her back pocket and says, “Noon. You took quite the nap, my friend. Marg and David have already landed. Should be here any second to drag your sorry ass out of bed so we can go to this luncheon to make conversation with all of their elderly relatives wondering why we’re not all married with five children by the ripe old age of 22.”

 

He sighs, pulling her off him and rolling them to the side so that he can run his hands along the ends of her hair. “Well, first, I thought we decided that I have a good ass and not a sorry one.”

 

“That’s me,” she corrects.

 

“Too true, lass,” Killian smiles, making his eyes crinkle. Emma smacks his chest even though she brought it on herself. “And secondly, who says I don’t have five kids already? You did say I was a sailor. I could have one with all of my lovers in every port.”

 

Emma sighs, surprisingly frustrated, and tries to roll away from him, but he catches her and pulls her back, his baseball muscles from high school still in tact.

 

“Don’t say that,” she mumbles into his chest.

 

“Say what now, love?”

 

“That you have five children and all these lovers.”

 

“Jealous, Swan?”

 

“No,” she burrows into him, so much like this morning. He can barely think, let alone understand her when she says, “I don’t want to think of you having this life that I’m not a part of. That I wouldn’t be there for.”

 

He knows she’s thinking about graduation in May. She’s scared that he’s going to move away for a job. That he won’t be there for her and that the only people left in Portland she knows are her old foster parents and a few casual friends from college, since Mary Margaret and David are moving to some small town hours way.

 

He was terrified of them being separated in high school. First that she would get moved to a new home before she graduated. Then that she didn’t know what her college plans were, and there was no guarantee they would end up in the same place. Hell, they could have been in different states. He would have gone wherever she went back then, dream school be damned. He knows that’s stupid. They weren’t even together. They’re not even together now. But he knows without a shadow of a doubt that he’s not moving anywhere without Emma Swan.

 

They had apparently both zoned out, distracted in their own little worlds, when the bedroom door swings open and David starts yelling to get their sorry – _fine_ , Killian corrects - asses out here for lunch.

 

Neither of them move, both having spent enough time with Mary Margaret and David to know they’re planning on leaving entirely too early.

 

Killian continues to stroke Emma’s hair, her back, as she talks to Mary Margaret about what shoes she should wear. Killian looks over at David, about to make a joke and ask what shoes David is wearing today, when he sees that David is looking at him with his eyebrow raised, pointing at how he and Emma are intertwined.

 

Killian shrugs his shoulders as best as he can lying on his side. David nods back at him, seemingly trying to understand more about the situation than Killian does, and joins in on the girls’ conversation, which has now shifted to if Mary Margaret’s stepmom is more likely to wear funeral black or bridal white to the wedding.

 

* * *

 

 

“So you and Killian looked cozy this morning. And this afternoon. But mostly this morning.”

 

Emma looks up from her laptop where she was emailing tomorrow’s lesson plan to her lead teacher to see Mary Margaret grinning down at her.

 

“Don’t you have something better to do? Like, I don’t know, get married?”

 

Mary Margaret plops down on the couch, all-knowing grin on her face before she says, “That’s not for two more days, Em. Still leaves me plenty of time to focus on you and your love life.”

 

“I don’t have a love life,” Emma deadpans.

 

“Exactly.”

 

Emma closes her laptop, knows where this is going, has had this conversation a million times. “Marg, I know what you’re going to say. Why don’t I say something to Killian about how I feel? How long are we going to dance around this “thing” we’ve got going on? I get it, okay.”

 

“Obviously you don’t,” Mary Margaret says, placing her hand on Emma’s leg. “Sweetie, I’ve been with David for four years. We’re getting married in two days. Husband and wife. I know him almost better than I know myself. And I love him. Really, truly, honestly. But that’s nothing compared to you and Killian. I’ve never known two people to be so compatible. It’s off the charts, really.”

 

Emma’s heard this all before. She has. Mary Margaret just has this look in her eyes, like she’s determined to get through to Emma today.

 

It’s gotta be because of the wedding. Weddings make people go crazy. It’s all the love. And alcohol.

 

Definitely the alcohol.

 

Emma leans over and rests her head on MMs shoulder. “I love him, Marg. I do. And it’s so cliché it makes me want to vomit, but I’m _terrified_ of him not feeling the same way. He’s been my rock for legitimately half of my life. I can’t lose him. I wouldn’t survive that.”

 

Mary Margaret runs her hands through Emma’s hair, the way Killian does to soothe her. The way she imagines a mother would have. “You won’t, and you would. But that man loves you. You hung the moon and the stars for him.”

 

“How did you know you wanted to marry David?” Emma asks, changing the subject but not really.

 

Mary Margaret thinks on it for a minute before saying, “It was sophomore year. You and I were taking that class where we had to learn how to play the ukulele as some sort of assignment that supposedly taught us how to incorporate music in the classroom.”

 

“I was awful at that,” Emma interrupts.

 

“You were,” she agrees, “but I was worse. So one night David was over and you were at Killian’s, and I was stressing about how I just couldn’t do it. I was never going to be a teacher because I couldn’t play a ukulele. Literally, was almost in tears. And David just puts the ukulele back in its case and leads me to bed, telling me just to sleep on it. So I do. And the next morning, I wake up to David in a hula skirt and cocoanut bra playing an Elvis Presley song on my ukulele.”

 

“No,” Emma giggles, putting her hand over her mouth because she can’t stop picturing David dressed like that.

 

“Yes, he really did do that. Stayed up all night learning the basics and called his roommate to bring him the stuff he had left over from that Hawaiin themed social.” Mary Margaret sighs. “I think I knew I wanted to marry him before that because it shouldn’t take such a ridiculously sweet and funny thing for me to know that. But I just kind of thought to myself, ‘if we can laugh like that for the rest of my life, I’ll be happy.”

 

Emma sighs and closes her eyes, leaning her head back onto MM’s shoulder.

 

“Killian makes me laugh like that. Every day.”

 

“So tell him.”

 

‘I can’t.”

 

“Emma.”

 

“Dammit, Marg, I just can’t.”


	3. Chapter Three

It’s Friday now, the day of the rehearsal and the rehearsal dinner, and Killian has already spent so much time waving off elderly women trying to either set him up with their granddaughters or seduce him themselves that he feels like he just wants to sit in the Blanchard’s guest bedroom with a bottle of rum he knows Mr. Blanchard has and wonder about why people can just ask such personal questions even if they don’t know you.

 

His phone buzzes, and he pulls it out of his pocket before he sits down on a bench where he can see Emma and the rest of bridesmaids put together some flower arrangements. He was helping, but the pollen started to make him sneeze uncontrollably. Damn allergies in damn Georgia in damn February.

**Liam: So mom says you’ve ventured down South for the weekend. How out of your element are you right now?**

Killian chuckles to himself.

**Killian: It’s fine. Except for pollen that’s somehow present in February.**

**Oh, and the tea. They call it sweet tea, and it makes me think I’m going into a sugar coma when I inevitably try it every time we come down   here.**

**Liam: That sounds bloody awful.**

 

  **Is Emma with you?**

**Killian: Here, but not with me at the moment. Why?**

**Liam: I have some time to FaceTime and wanted to know if my brother and the “love of his life” could spare a few moments to talk to me.**

**Killian: I’m never telling you anything again, you wanker.**

**Liam: Just go get her.**

**Killian: Aye, one moment.**

 

Killian shouts over the walkway, “Emma, love, can you come here for a second?”

 

Emma finishes the flower arrangement she’s working on and walks his way, her hips swaying enticingly in her jeans. When she reaches him he looks up at her, as she runs her thumbs underneath his eyes. “God, your eyes are red. Do you need medicine? Is that why you called me over here? I’m not your nurse, Killian.”

 

He smiles up at her, “no, that’s not why I called you over here. But if you want you can be my nurse and kiss it all better.”

 

She studies him for a moment, almost like she really is thinking of kissing him – he can’t even begin to think of how much better that would make, well, everything – before she just crosses her arms and asks, “why’d you really call me over here?”

 

“Liam wants to FaceTime.”

 

Her face lights up immediately. She and Liam have never spent much time together, but she loves him as if he were her own brother. Killian is pretty sure they talk about him without his knowledge, because there’s no other reason for her to be so comfortable talking to him. She’s only seen him twice since they were fourteen.

 

Before he realizes it, Emma is plopping herself down next to him on the bench, putting her arm around his shoulder, and saying “well put him on, dummy. I want to talk to my favorite Jones.”

 

Killian pinches her side, smiling at her teasing, before calling his brother.

 

As soon as his face is on the screen Liam says, “Hey little brother. Hi, Birdie.”

 

“Younger brother.” “Swan.” Killian and Emma correct at the same time.

 

“I could use your other nickname if you want me to,” Liam laughs as Killian glares at his brother’s smug face through the screen.

 

Emma readjusts her arm, brushing her fingers across _that_ spot behind his ear, making him hold back a groan on just how good that feels, and grabs his phone out of his hand so she can see Liam better before saying, “You two are so stubborn it’s ridiculous. And that’s me saying that.”

 

They both scoff and protest.

 

_Point, Emma._

 

“Anyways,” Killian drawls out before quickly saying, “how are you? Where are you, Liam? Do you know when you’ll get to come home next?”

 

“Kil,” Liam chuckles, “One question at a time. I’m good. You know I can’t tell you. And that’s actually why I wanted to call.”

 

“Why? What’s happening?” Killian suddenly feels anxious. He doesn’t know if what his brother is about to say is going to be good or bad. He never knows.

 

“Well, you know,” Liam continues, “my contract is ending next month. I’ve been doing this for eight years, and I think that eight years has been enough for me.”

 

Emma suddenly gasps, squeezing Killian’s shoulder in excitement, seeming to catch on to what Liam is telling them while Killian sits there in confusion.

 

“What are you saying, Liam?” Killian questions, needing to hear the words before he believes anything.

 

“I’m saying, _younger_ brother, that I’m coming home. For good. How would you like a roommate?”

 

Killian doesn’t think his grin could be any wider. His brother is his best friend – other than Emma – and he feels like a kid again at the excitement of his brother coming home after all these years. _For good._

 

“I would love that, Liam.” Emma starts running her hands up and down his back, resting her head against his shoulder. “I mean, I don’t know how much longer I’ll be in my apartment, but we’ll figure it out.”

 

Emma’s hands still at that, and Killian knows she thinks that he’s still planning on moving away. He turns and presses a kiss into her shoulder, trying to reassure her that it’s going to be okay. He’s figuring out how to stay.

 

“I’m so happy for you guys,” Emma whispers quietly, almost like she feels that she doesn’t deserve to be in this conversation. She does. Unequivocally. “I can’t believe you’re finally coming back.”

 

“Aye,” Liam confirms. “And I can’t wait to spend some time with you, Birdie. Gotta repay you for putting up with my idiot little brother all these years. No other woman would have survived so many years of listening to Killian talk about corrosion and polymer and whatever else it is he studies getting that big degree of his.”

 

“Don’t I know it?” Emma teases.

 

Killian smiles at her, raising his eyebrow, before he hears Mary Margaret and Ruby call them because it’s time to go through the rehearsal for the wedding tomorrow.

 

“I’ll let you guys go,” Liam says. “Emma, you’ll look stunning tomorrow. Little brother, don’t mess up walking this one down the aisle.”

 

“Bye Liam,” they both say before Killian continues, “text me or email me all the details of your return. I love you, Liam. ”

 

“I love you, too, Killian.”

 

Liam nods before waving at them and ending the call.

 

“Alright, up, love,” Killian prods as he stands up and offers his hand to help her off the bench. “We’ve got to practice our walking and our smiling for tomorrow. I know those are two things you struggle with.”

 

“Shut up, Killian,” Emma growls playfully before getting up but turning to him and wrapping her arms around his neck. “I’m so happy for you. I can’t believe Liam is coming home.”

 

“Aye, me neither,” he agrees before guiding them back to the rehearsal space, happier than he’s been in a long time.

 

* * *

 

Shit. Shit. Shit.

 

“Killian, that fucking _burns_.”

 

“Just hold still, love.”

 

Emma lets out what has to be the most _pathetic_ whimper she’s ever heard, but her knee hurts and this antiseptic _stings_.

 

Before rehearsing for the wedding, she had changed into the shoes she was wearing with her dress tomorrow, nude three and half inch heels she’s worn millions of times before, and while walking from the ceremony site to the dining hall, her heel got stuck in some uneven stone steps and she fell, her knees landing on the rock path, both ripping her jeans and the skin on her knees.

 

Killian was joking when he said she struggled with walking earlier, but now she feels like that was some sort of omen that she was going to bust it and embarrass herself in front of twenty odd people.

 

And also destroy her knees.

 

(It’s totally going to leave a scar.)

 

And her favorite pair of jeans.

 

So now she’s sitting on the bathroom counter at the Blanchard house while Killian cleans out the pebbles from the broken skin on her right knee. She mostly landed on that knee, and it’s more blood than skin at this point.

 

Again, it fucking _hurts_.

 

“This was a pretty nasty fall, love,” Killian comments as he picks out another pebble, wiping her knee with a wet washcloth.

 

“No shit, Sherlock.”

 

He gives her a look that she gives her third graders, both reprimanding and soft, but mostly reprimanding because she did just say “no shit, Sherlock” to him in a bad impression of his accent.

 

He doesn’t say anything else, just continues cleaning out her wound, grabbing her calf to still her leg when she kicks out because of the burn of the antiseptic.

 

She’s reminded of when they were sixteen, and she accidentally let it slip that she’d never been taught to ride a bike. Killian had been trying to get her to go bike riding down by the water for months, and she always found some shoddy excuse to get out of it. One day he was really insistent on it, wouldn’t leave her alone about it, and she yelled at him that _she didn’t fucking know how, Killian._

 

He got the softest look on his face, blue eyes going wide, and he didn’t say anything else, quickly changing the subject to if she’d done her biology homework yet.

 

He knew that she didn’t like to talk about her childhood or the fact that she was a foster kid and didn’t have parents like the rest of their classmates, or even just the one parent like him. So whenever something from her childhood that made her feel broken like not knowing how to ride a bike, something every kid knows how to do, came up, he would effortlessly change the subject to something he knew she felt comfortable talking about.

 

Two days later, she walked to his house so that they could go grocery shopping while his mom was at work, to find him sitting on the curb with a bike and a helmet.

 

“What do you say, love? Want to learn how to ride a bike?”

 

It took awhile for her to be able to even balance herself on the bike, overthinking the whole human being on two wheels things, and even longer to feel comfortable pedaling without Killian holding onto the back of the bike.

 

So when she finally felt the courage to do it on her own, she took off pedaling down the street, only to promptly crash on the sidewalk and skin her elbow and forearm from when she landed on her right arm.

 

Killian ran to her, checking to see if she was okay, concern evident on his face, when she started laughing uncontrollably. Yes, she should have been embarrassed. She was sixteen years old and just fell off of a bike. But it felt so incredibly normal, like a right of passage, that she didn’t even care.

 

“Knock, knock,” Mary Margaret says the words even as she actually knocks on the door. “David ran to the store to get some gauze and medical tape since you can’t actually put a bandaid on that, so here you go.”

 

Mary Margaret hands her what looks to be a full on first aid kit, and no part of her is surprised that she and David went over the top in trying to take care of her.

 

“Thanks, Marg.”

 

“How are you feeling, sweetie?” Mary Margaret has the sweetest smile on her face, affection for Emma showing through. They’re basically the same age, but Mary Margaret is the caring mother that Emma never had.

 

“Like an idiot, a little bit. And also that this burns.” At this, she kicks her leg out at Killian, as he takes the first aid kick to start to wrap her knee. “I can’t believe I fell like that.”

 

Mary Margaret places her hand on Emma’s arm, rubbing her shoulder soothingly. “It’ll be okay. It’ll hurt for a little while, but at least I have you in long dresses tomorrow. Wouldn’t want that ugly knee ruining the picture.”

 

She winks at her, and Emma can’t help but laugh because she’d look absolutely ridiculous walking around with her knees wrapped in padding like a volleyball player.

 

The three of them talk for a little while longer, and when Killian finishes wrapping her knees, they all get up to go start getting ready for the rehearsal dinner. Most people have it right after the rehearsal, but they had to delay it for David’s parents to fly in.

 

* * *

 

 

Emma wants to be drunk. She’s not drunk though.

 

Because she can’t be.

 

Because this town doesn’t have taxis. Or Ubers. And she’s the designated driver tonight. She’s not sure how people in Georgia live.

 

She’s spent the entire day getting ready for tomorrow – making flower arrangements, placing name cards, practicing walking up and down the aisle (because that doesn’t feel weird at all), calming Mary Margaret down about the weather report (it’s most definitely going to rain during the outdoor ceremony, but you never tell a bride that. You lie lie lie.), falling down and busting her knees, and avoiding making eye contact with Mr. Blanchard because she can still see him having sex like it was yesterday.

 

“Emma, love,” Killian shouts from down the hall, causing Emma to stab herself in the eye with her mascara wand.

 

“Shit, shit, shit,” Emma mummers, praying that she didn’t just get black goo all over her left eye. She doesn’t know if she did. She stabbed herself in the eye and her contact is blurry.

 

“Swan, it’s time to – “ Killian stops talking when he walks into the bathroom and sees her, probably looking like Marilyn Manson on a _bad_ day. “Swan, what did you do to your eye? Are you crying? Out of one eye?”

 

Emma puts her face in her hands as she chuckles, softly, sarcastically. “No, dammit, Killian. I was getting ready and you startled me and I’m pretty sure I ruined my contact. And I definitely don’t have time to clean it up and fix my makeup because I told everyone I would drive us because I wanted Marg and David to enjoy tonight and not have to worry about anything. Also, my knee hurts when I bend it.”

 

“Darling,” Killian, starts, pulling down Emma’s hands with one of his own, as the other grabs a wash cloth, wets it, and starts wiping at her eye, “go get your glasses and pack up your makeup. It’s a twenty minute drive to the rehearsal dinner. I can drive us while you get ready. I’ve only had the two beers at lunch, so I’m good to go.”

 

“Okay,” Emma nods, “okay. You’re right, thanks. I don’t know why I’m having a meltdown over something so stupid. It’s not like I’m the one getting married tomorrow. God, I’m sorry for being stupid.”

 

Killian puts the wash cloth down and raises one eyebrow. “You’re not being stupid. It’s a long weekend. You didn’t sleep well last night, and you had quite the tussle with some stairs earlier. We just need to get some food in that belly of yours, aye?”

 

“Aye,” she mimics in his accent before lifting up on her toes to kiss his cheek before walking (slightly limping because damn knee) back down the hall to grab her glasses.

 

Killian smiles to himself before placing his hand on his cheek, right where Emma kissed him.

 

* * *

 

“Do you want that?” Emma blurts out, making Killian raise his eyebrow at her.

 

“Want what, love?”

 

“You know,” Emma waves, gesturing around the room as she sits on the bed taking her heels off.

 

“I’m afraid I don’t know.”

 

“You know,” she groans, flopping down on the bed, “the whole getting married and having 13 babies and being in love for the rest of your life while you drive a minivan.”

 

“I am _not_ driving a minivan, Swan.”

 

“You know what I mean.”

 

Killian stops getting ready for bed and goes to kneel in front of Emma, as she’s star-fished onto the bed. . “I do know what you mean. And I do want that. If I meet the right woman, I imagine I’d love to get married and have 13 babies and even drive a minivan. But what brought this on, love?”

 

“It’s stupid.”

 

“You keep saying that tonight. I’m sure it’s not.”

 

“It is.”

 

“Just tell me. You know I can’t judge you. You knew me when I had both acne and braces at the same time. And I couldn’t grow a beard to save my life.”

 

“That is very true,” Emma laughs, sitting up to look at Killian staring up at her, “you were such a looker.”

 

“I know that’s sarcasm, darling, but I remember when you wore those jeans with the bedazzled pockets on the back every day for months. Months, Swan.”

 

Emma thumps his forehead. “One, you said no judging. Two, they were different jeans and very much in style. And three, you basically just admitted that you were staring at my ass when we were in middle school.”

 

“I think we’ve established that it’s a good ass.”

 

Killian wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, and Emma can’t help but laugh at him, hoping that he might mistake her blush from his comment for blush from laughing.

 

“But why are you asking me about my future plans, Swan?”

 

“I just-“ she starts, but stops before she can finish.

 

Killian grabs her hand and starts rubbing his thumb across her palm, nodding at her to continue.

 

“I just, I think about Marg and David and what they have and how they have it all figured out. They’ve got jobs and know where they’re going to be next year. And they know who they’re marrying. I feel like people spend their entire lives trying to figure those things out, and they have it all figured out at our age. And we’re young, Killian. Really young when you think about it. And I know it’s ridiculous to think that I’m supposed to have it all figured out just because my friends do, but I just feel like everyone is moving on and _I’m just being left behind again_.”

 

The last six words come out in such a rush that Killian feels like he’s suffered from whiplash at her confession.

 

He feels as if his heart must be about to beat out of his chest.

 

That wouldn’t be good.

 

Not at all.

 

He’s not a selfish man. At least he likes to think that. But gods when it comes to Emma, he might be the most selfish of them all. He doesn’t want to assume this is because she thinks he’s leaving after graduation, but he’s 99.9% positive that it is.

 

At least maybe 98%.

 

Killian lets her words sink in before he lifts her chin with his finger so she’s looking in his eyes.

 

“Sweetheart,” he soothes, “you’re freaking out about nothing. I get it. I do. I worry about these things as well. But no one is leaving you.”

 

She’s since burrowed his face into his shoulder so all he hears is a muffled, “Marg and David are.”

 

“They’re moving, not leaving you. Phones and FaceTime and cars and planes exist so you can stay in contact.”

 

He feels more than hears the mumbled, “you are.”

 

So that 99.9% was right. Damn.

 

Killian starts running his hand up and down her back, much like his mom did when he was younger.

 

“I would never leave you. What makes you think that?”

 

She doesn’t respond, but he can feel her breath on his neck, her nose nuzzled into the exposed skin above his collar.

 

That feels incredible.

 

It’s too much.

 

But also not enough.

 

And dammit this is such an inappropriate time to be thinking that.

 

“Emma,” Killian starts, and he knows the use of her first name is what causes her to take a sharp intake of breath. “I’m not moving away. I know that you think that I am for work, but I haven’t even applied anywhere outside of Portland because my entire life is there. My family. My friends. You. You’re there, love.”

 

He feels her nod and wonders if her head is going to be permanently fused to his neck if she doesn’t move soon.

 

That would be bad.

 

But also good.

 

Gods, he’s so weird.

 

“But what about what you told Liam? About your apartment. You said you didn’t know how much longer you’d have it? I thought that meant you were moving.”

 

“I’m moving out of the campus apartments, Swan. Not to another city. I just kind of want a bedroom that’s bigger than a shoebox and to not have neighbors who blare their horns in the parking lot at two in the damn morning because they just got home from some party. I’m moving apartments. I’m not leaving. And if I was, you would be most welcome to come with me, okay?”

 

“Okay,” she nods into his shoulder, letting out a sigh of what he hopes is relief and understanding.

 

“Now let’s go to bed, Swan. We’ve got a big day tomorrow, and I know that you need beauty sleep more than I do.”

 

“Says the man who I’ve seen use my moisturizer before.”

 

“Oi,” he pinches her side, “you don’t get to be this devilishly handsome without some occasional work.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

The wedding venue is a two-story ranch house that seats over 300 people inside with room for 150 more outside by the lake. Emma doesn’t know how it’s possible to know this many people. It’s ridiculous, honestly. To know 450 people who want to travel to Georgia and watch a fifteen-minute ceremony outside in February just so they can dress up and get drunk afterwards just seems a little crazy to her. She knows that Mary Margaret and David didn’t ask for this. It was all their parents. But still, this is insane.

 

Emma is watching the decorators bring in chairs and tablecloths for all of the tables from her spot on the balcony above the ballroom. Her hair has been pulled into a loose bun, and all of her makeup has been done except for the red lips to match her red bridesmaids dress. She didn’t want to put it on yet because she knows they still have three hours until they even take pictures, and she definitely plans on chowing down on some of the sandwiches she knows are in the groomsmen’s room.

 

She’s lost in the thought of sandwiches when she feels her phone go off in her pocket and sees that it’s David sending her a picture of he and Killian tipping two beers together.

 

**David: Want to come crack open a cold one with the groom?**

**Emma: Absolutely**

 

After she lets Mary Margaret know that she’s spending some time with David while the rest of the girls get their hair done, she makes her way to the groomsmen’s room and knocks. There’s no way she’s about to barge in there. Even if David and Killian are two of the most respectable men she knows, they’re still men. And most of David’s friends are still in college, so it’s not like she trusts them to all be completely mature. Or sober at this point.

 

Victor opens the door and doesn’t even acknowledge her, just letting her in. It’s surprisingly calm in the room. They’re all lounging on the couches, watching a basketball game on the TV.

 

It doesn’t take her long to find Killian and David. They’re sitting in two arm chair in the corner talking, not paying any attention to the rest of the guys. She grabs herself a beer and a sub sandwich and plops herself down on the arm of David’s chair.

 

“So David,” she drawls out, thinking she’s spent too much time in the South, “how’s it feel to be an almost married man? You nervous? Excited? Feel like running away on a horse like Julia Roberts? We could make a movie out of it. The Getaway Groom.”

 

They both laugh at her joke, probably a little too hard for guys who claim not to watch romance movies before David tells her that he’s not nervous at all. When you know you know.

 

They sit and talk for an hour or two, and she’s glad she got this time with David. Mary Margaret is technically her friend in this relationship, being her college roommate for two of the last three years, but David is like the older brother she always wanted.

 

Before she knows it, it’s time to take pictures and she’s tying Killian’s bowtie before rejoining the other bridesmaids and slipping into her dress.

 

She smiles for pictures for what feels like hours and then suddenly she’s standing beside an alter watching two of her very best friends exchange vows and rings. She doesn’t even realize she’s crying until she sees Killian raise his eyebrow at her from across the aisle. What feels like seconds pass and then David is kissing his new _wife_ and whisking her back down the aisle.

 

Happily. Ever. After.

 

Or, at least to the reception where there’s booze and cake.

 

* * *

 

“You look stunning, Swan. Have I told you that?”

 

“Hmmm,” she ponders, placing her hands around his neck as they sway on the dance floor. The reception that started off with 450 people has dwindled, and they’re just waiting for the last few to leave so they can clean up. She’s exhausted and slightly buzzed and thinks her feet may fall off if she doesn’t get to go to bed soon. “I think you might have said it once or twice, but I appreciate it nonetheless.”


	4. Chapter Four

While David and Mary Margaret, high on love and newly wedded bliss, fly somewhere significantly warmer than both Maine and Georgia in February, Emma and Killian stumble into Atlanta Hartsfield International a little more hung over than they thought they would be.

 

Despite being in wedding world for four days, the real world with jobs and school and bills and just _life_ was still happening, and they quickly got wrapped back up in their routines. Emma goes to her classes two days a week while working for her internship the other three days, and Killian spends his days in classes and his nights working at the bar near his apartment.

 

Between work and classes, time seems to go quickly. February eases its way into March, the nippy cold weather slowly transforming into a comfortable chill, one that only bites in the early morning when the sun has just risen or late at night when the stars scatter the night sky.

 

And in March, halfway through the semester, Emma gets transferred to Falmouth Elementary School a few miles outside of city limits – which, she will gladly and loudly admit, despite loving her internship, is a pain in her ass because she has to take the bus since she wasn’t given a parking space as she’s only a temporary employee.

 

She doesn’t see much of Killian.

 

She doesn’t see much of anyone, really. Mary Margaret, though she stills pays rent until their lease ends at the first of July, has moved to her new home with David several hours away, so Emma has been living alone for two months.

 

Living alone is something she’s never done before. Being alone, yes. But living alone, between group homes and foster homes and college roommates, has never happened before. She’s not used to the quietness of being the only one home, the stillness of the air if no one has been home all day.

 

It’s…different, but she doesn’t hate it. Doesn’t hate it when she can walk around in nothing but her underwear and sing while making breakfast in the morning, flitting between the kitchen and the living room, where she can indulge in awful morning talk shows or soap operas.

 

But she can hate it when she comes home to that stillness of air, that quiet that no one can change but herself. When Killian is working the late shift at the bar or she misses her nightly phone call with Mary Margaret, she aches for some sort of company.

 

Those nights aren’t often though, and they’re usually the result of her getting into her own head. Just as she thinks the silence will never end, Killian will come waltzing in the door, plopping down on her couch like he owns the place, or Mary Margaret or Ruby will call, often to talk for hours about whatever fancies their mind that hour.

 

She spends about as much time with children under the age of 10 as she does with her laptop, whether that be with Netflix, classwork, or the ever-dreaded job applications.

 

Earlier this week she was holed up in the library, legs falling asleep because she got an elusive window booth and refused to get up for fear of either having her stuff stolen or losing her spot. It was midterms, and she had a couple of papers due for her minor in sociology, and if she had to sit in silence with just the sound of her fingers taping against her keyboard for much longer, she would probably go bat shit crazy or something.

 

Stir crazy.

 

That’s a more appropriate turn of phrase for a future educator of America.

 

She gets into a research rhythm, fingers quickly typing away as the words that support her thesis come to her, practically mystically. Just as she’s finishing a paragraph about how one’s upbringing can affect how they interpret new information in the classroom, she gets distracted by the view outside of her window.

 

The campus is mixed within the city, but the library has a courtyard where students often have picnic lunches or play Frisbee. It’s a picture of the quintessential college life, the one you see on brochures and in movies.

 

It’s been a long time since she let herself get caught up in just being a college student, so she just watches a Frisbee fly back and forth between two guys, one of them toppling into the lush grass, rolling in circles on the ground, in order to catch it. It’s stupid and a little bit childish, but she gets caught up in the rhythm of it, the back and forth, the sailing of the disc thru the air.

When Ruby shows up with a cup of coffee at four in the afternoon, Emma doesn’t even thank her before she runs off to go to the bathroom. She has manners, but her bladder is more important.

 

When she gets back, feeling like a new woman, Ruby is going through her laptop. Emma loves the girl, but she really has no boundaries.

 

“Did you see all the wedding pictures,” Ruby questions, scrolling through Emma’s photo albums.

 

“Yep,” Emma confirms, popping the “p” as she stretches out her legs. She was not made for sitting for long periods of time. “Is that why you’re using my laptop without my permission?”

 

“You left it open, Ems.”

 

Well, she’s got her there. Emma’s known Ruby for long enough to know that an unattended phone or laptop is fair game to her.

 

“Ooooh, Ems,” Ruby is basically bouncing in her seat now, pointing to a picture of the two of them standing in the reception hall, “we look hot here. We should dress like that every day.”

 

“You want to wear a ball gown every day?”

 

“Um, why not? I know we both got laid that night. It’s basically like a guy magnet.”

 

“Woah woah woah, Rubes,” Emma protests, putting her hands up as she slides back into her side of the booth. “For one, I did not get laid. But more importantly, who did you sleep with, and why am I just now hearing this? You very rarely keep things like that a secret.”

 

“Woah woah woah, Ems,” Ruby imitates, a concerned look on her face as she continues scrolling through the photo album. She’s silent for a moment before she turns the laptop around to Emma, pointing at the picture on the screen. “You’re telling me that you and Killian didn’t _finally_ sleep together that weekend? Come on, girl. Even just a one-time thing? You were all over each other. Seriously.”

 

Emma can feel the blush rise in her cheeks and knows she must be as red as a tomato right now. And when she looks at the picture, it’s her dancing with Killian, updo completely ruined and makeup starting to smear, so she knows it was late into the night. She’s backed up against him, hips aligned as he rests his hands on her hips, head nuzzled into her neck, and she doesn’t remember them dancing quite that provocatively.

 

Holy shit.

 

Holy shit they really were all over each other.

 

She stares at the picture a little longer before she exits out of the photo app and opens back up her paper. “We were buzzed, Rubes. We danced. We did _not_ sleep together.”

 

“Oh come on. Nothing? You’re both too hot not to be sleeping with each other.”

 

“You know Killian and I are just friends, right?”

 

Ruby levels her with a stare so intense that she feels like it could knock the actual socks off of her feet.

 

“Bullshit.”

 

“True shit.”

 

They glare at each other for a little while longer before Emma goes back to working on her paper and Ruby starts working on her vet school applications.

 

“Wait!” Emma gasps, a level too loud for a library. “Who did you hook up with? You never said.”

 

Ruby gets a wolfish grin on her face, all big teeth and devious eyes, before she looks at Emma and says, “Victor.”

 

“No fucking way,” Emma whisper shouts, slamming her hand on the table. “Are you serious? He’s such an asshole.”

 

“Oh, trust me, I know.”

 

“Then why?”

 

“He’s hot. Plus, not all of us are afraid to go after what we want.”

 

She says it so smugly, but she’s no longer looking at Emma, instead readily back to working on her applications. Emma chuckles to herself, wondering how she and Mary Margaret ended up with a friend like Ruby.

 

Later that night on her way home from the library, with the rough drafts on her papers complete, she walks to the bar where Killian works, the Velvet Rabbit. It’s kind of an odd name for a bar, but it’s often quiet in the afternoons and serves good food and drinks with the occasional live music on Wednesdays and weekends so she quite likes it. Plus, Killian works there, so the conversation is good and the drinks are often free.

 

Tonight is a Wednesday, so she knows it’ll be crowded, but she hopes that Killian isn’t too busy because it’s the only time this week she’ll get to see him.

 

When she walks in the lights are dimmed and someone is strumming his guitar, singing softly into the microphone. She sees Killian serving a group of older women, undoubtedly turning up his charm, flashing his teeth and exaggerating his accent, in order to garner a bigger tip. The man knows how to work a room.

 

She slides into a barstool at his end of the bar, and she swears it’s not two seconds later that a guy is asking her if she comes here often, and wow, why is that even a pick up line?

 

Before she can answer, Killian is back behind the bar and leaning over to kiss her cheek, mumbling a “hello, beautiful” against her skin.

 

The guy beside her gets up and sulks away, saying an “I guess she does come here often” under his breath.

 

“You want something to drink, sweetheart?” Killian has a smug smile on his face, like he knows he just ran that guy off, not that she cares. She’s just here to spend some time with Killian tonight.

 

“Some whiskey and a burger, bar wench.”

 

His eyes crinkle with his smile, as he puts the order in on his tablet for the kitchen and goes to grab her a glass of whiskey.

 

“Here you go, milady,” he says as he slides the whiskey to her. She takes a sip and it burns in the most pleasant way. “Did you get a lot of work done today?”

 

“Two completed rough drafts, which I’ll most likely tear apart tomorrow after work, but I count it as progress.”

 

“Aye,” he agrees, grabbing his water bottle from under the counter. He’s got beads of sweat on his forehead and his black T-shirt is sticking to his chest under his unbuttoned plaid. It’s hot in the bar tonight with all of the extra bodies, and she understands why those older women were acting like he was dinner when she walked in.

 

“It’s been packed in here all day, so I haven’t gotten a bloody thing done.” The iPad chimes to alert him that her burger is done, and he heads to the kitchen to grab it before returning to the bar and continuing. “I’ll be up until three or four in the morning trying to finish my take home exam. Robin said he’s almost finished and will help me out, so that’s good at least.”

 

Just as she’s about to tell him that she’s sorry, he gets called away to serve another group of women, this time younger, and she remembers how much she hates coming in here on nights when he’s more likely to get hit on, the petty jealousy she has no business feeling bubbling up inside of her. At least she knows that he’s too busy to go home with any of them tonight.

 

Not that that’s any of her business.

 

Nope.

 

She stays until a half hour until midnight, talking to Killian when he’s in between customers and speaking with a few girls from her classes, before she catches a cab to go home.

 

She turns her papers in at 11:46 on Friday night, fourteen minutes before they’re due, and does a little dance before curling up into bed and falling asleep.

 

It’s Saturday morning now, which just so happens to be St. Patrick’s Day this year, and she’s lounging on her couch, her comforter wrapped around her shoulders from where she dragged it from her bed. She’s mostly still asleep, reveling in this day off, and enjoying watching old episodes of Grey’s Anatomy on TV.

 

It’s spring break this week, and the heavens aligned when Falmouth’s spring break lined up with hers, but more importantly with Mary Margaret’s because she’s driving up to visit the Nolans in their new town, a quaint little place called Storybrooke a few hours away. It’s only been a little over a month since she’s seen her friends, but that’s the longest time (by weeks) she’s gone without seeing Mary Margaret and David since meeting them her freshman year of college. If she hadn’t been so busy since the wedding, her heart would _ache_ at missing them.

 

She’s thinking about how she needs to pack and make sure her bug has gas in it when she gets distracted by Izzie cutting Denny’s LVAD wire on the show, and she falls back into a comfortable distracted state. She woke up at six this morning and was never able to fall back asleep. It’s only a quarter past eight now, all of her curtains are still closed so it’s dark in the room, so she thinks she could definitely fall back asleep just like this.

 

But then she hears her front door unlock. The only person who has a key who still lives in town is Killian, so she doesn’t even bother looking at the door from her spot on the couch. She just cuddles more into her comforter, looking to all the world like a human burrito, and prays that she can just take that nap because she’s _exhausted_.

 

“Well good morning, sunshine.” Killian is smiling far too broadly and speaking far too loudly when all she wants to do is go back to bed and never leave, so she just grunts something that resembles a ‘good morning’ back at him and continues to watch Meredith Grey and the rest of the group make horrible life decisions.

 

She’s paying no attention to her new guest until he places a paper bag on the coffee table, and she can smell the chicken biscuit that she just knows is in the bag. It’s from this little diner she loves that’s across the street from Killian’s apartment, and their biscuits are one of her guilty pleasures. It’s the purest of comfort food, and the calories are _so_ worth it.

 

She grabs the biscuit out of the bag, now noticing the cup of coffee that was behind the bag, and mumbles out a “you’re the best” as she puts away the food and coffee in record time. She didn’t know she was so hungry, but she’s now remembering that she hadn’t eaten since lunch the day before.

 

She lays back down on the couch, and they fall into a companionable silence, as often happens when they spend time together. They know each other so well after being friends for so long that words don’t always need to be exchanged. There’s not a need for constant conversation.

 

“We’ve got to find you better shows, darling.” Killian suddenly speaks, startling her out of her post-breakfast haze.

 

“Please, Killian, like you haven’t seen at least seven seasons of this show.”

 

He scoffs at that and props his feet up on the coffee table from his seat in the armchair, head reclined and eyes closed as he speaks. “I have spent many a night watching them with you, but I don’t want to know what happens after McSteamy and Lexi die.”

 

Emma sits up so quickly in order to look at him that she thinks she gets whiplash.

 

“Woah woah woah.”

 

“What?” He’s still not looking at her, but she can tell he thinks that she’s being overly dramatic.

 

“Did you just call him McSteamy? Like, those words came out of your mouth?”

 

He opens one eye, effectively raising the corresponding eyebrow, and smirks at her, and she knows that Captain Innuendo has emerged bright and early this morning. “Well, he’s not dashing like me, but that is what the ladies on the show call him.”

 

“You’re so full of yourself.”

 

“Do you not think me dashing?”

 

“No.”

 

He gives her a stare saying he knows that she’s lying, and then feigns offence, throwing his hand over his heart, palm connected to his chest. “Swan, on this holy day, a day to celebrate me, a day for drinking when I don’t even have to work at an establishment for drinking, you insult me like that. How dare you.”

 

“Killian, St. Patrick’s Day does not mean the world celebrates you just because you’re Irish. I mean, technically you have American citizenship now.”

 

“I’m still Irish, love.”

 

She not so graciously flops back down on the couch to keep watching the show because it’s addicting okay, and they continue to lounge about and watch TV until it’s early in the afternoon.

 

“You packed for tomorrow yet, Swan?”

 

“Nope.” She says, popping the “p” like she does every time she says that word, getting up from her couch burrito to get a glass of water from the kitchen. “Haven’t even washed my clothes for the week, so I technically can’t pack yet.”

 

“Swan.” He admonishes. He says her name like she’s a child, and he’s a father who’s disappointed in her.

 

She’s sipping on her water, trying to think of a way to weasel her way out of this, like she actually is a child being scolded by her parents.

 

“Uhhh, I – I, uh…” she stutters out. “I figured I’d just do it tonight.”

 

“I thought we were going out tonight?”

 

“After that?”

 

She’s back on the couch now, pulling her comforter back around her shoulders, knowing that Killian really is about to scold her for not being prepared for her trip. Usually he goes with her when she goes out of town, so he basically does all her packing for her. But he has to work this week, needs the extra money, so she’s going by herself. And, thus, is entirely unprepared.

 

“So you’re telling me, love,” he starts slowly, looking at her like she’s five years old, “that you were planning on going out with me tonight, celebrating my Irish heritage with all of these Americans, and then going to the Laundromat afterwards? At, what, one or two in the morning, pleasantly buzzed?”

 

She shrugs her shoulders, small, squeamish smile on her face. “A brilliant plan, right?”

 

Killian gets up from the armchair and walks over to grab her hands and pull her off the couch. “Up, Swan. We’re going to go do your laundry now and then go get one green beer?”

 

“One?” She’s pouting now, and really has turned into a petulant child.

 

“One,” he confirms, heading to her room to grab her laundry basket, throwing in the clothes on her bedroom floor. “But I will buy you whatever you want to eat to go with it.”

 

Emma begrudgingly gets up from the couch and goes to get dressed, adding the clothes she was wearing to the laundry basket.

 

As they’re leaving the apartment, she’s pinches Killian’s bicep, a little harder than she originally intended.

 

“Bloody hell, Swan. What was that for?”

 

She’s got a smirk on her face, eyebrows raised playfully.

 

“You’re not wearing green, McSteamy.”


	5. Chapter Five

Emma met Mary Margaret during her third week of freshman year in college. She had an hour lunch break between calculus and introductory psychology. She’d gotten into the habit of sitting on a bench outside of the mathematics department, as it was shaded by a tree and far enough away from any major roads so that she wasn’t distracted by the sounds of cars traveling down the streets, tires crunching on the gravel and engines roaring to life.

 

She was eating a Tupperware bowl of fruit, scrolling through her phone, when a girl dressed in a floral dress and cardigan, much like some of her high school classmates’ moms wore, and a pixie cut adorning her head sat down on the bench next to her and smiled.

 

Emma nodded back, trying to be polite. It wasn’t the first time someone would sit next to her when there were other open benches around, and it didn’t mean she had to become best friends with the girl.

 

Lies.

 

“Hi,” the girl greeted, sticking her hand out for Emma to shake. “I’m Mary Margaret.”

 

Emma took her hand, telling her that she was Emma Swan, and the conversation went from there. Mary Margaret spent the entire hour telling Emma that she was majoring in elementary education, that she was from Maine but her dad had moved to Georgia, and that she was a semester ahead of track because she had taken classes over the summer.

 

Mary Margaret would pepper in questions to Emma, trying to find out a little bit about her, but she seemed to be able to tell that Emma didn’t want to share a lot of her history. So Emma shared what she felt comfortable with, and before she knew it, her lunch hour had passed, and the two women parted ways.

 

Emma figured she’d never see Mary Margaret again, but when she walked toward her bench that next Wednesday, there she was.

 

So it became a regular thing.

 

She and Mary Margaret.

 

And the bench outside the mathematics department.

 

Mary Margaret never asked for more, never hinted at wanting to do anything else. But, one day, when Killian had a class cancelled and joined them on the bench, he decided to invite Mary Margaret and her boyfriend David to dinner that night.

 

Emma wanted to murder him right there on the spot, but as it turns out, there was no need, because four years later, she’s got two friends she never knew she needed.

 

So the next morning when she gets up at seven to start her little mini road trip, she doesn’t mind one bit. And suddenly she’s glad she really did only have the one St. Patrick’s Day themed beer. It’s only a couple of hours drive from Portland to the quaint town of Storybrooke, but she gets stuck in traffic (who knew there was this much traffic heading north in late March?) so she ends up arriving at the Nolan’s front door much later than was intended.

 

She knocks on the door, relieved to get there, but she’s hungry from not having eaten yet that day. And she has to pee. There’s not a lot of trustworthy rest stops along the way apparently.

 

Before she can even knock for a second time, Mary Margaret is opening the door and pulling her into her arms, squeezing her so tightly that she can barely breathe. Normally Emma would complain about being smothered, but she’s missed her friend immensely and she just has to sigh in contentment at being reunited with Mary Margaret.

 

“Hi, Marg,” she squeaks out, hugging back just as tightly, as Mary Margaret runs her hands up and down Emma’s back soothingly.

 

“Oh, _Emma_ ,” she sighs out, like her world is finally at peace. And Emma’s not one for such sentimental dramatics, but Mary Margaret definitely is. She’s pulling Emma into the loft, and Emma is blown away by just how well Mary Margaret has managed to pull it together in the last month. It’s quaint and rustic and just a perfect combination of Mary Margaret and David. She doesn’t get a chance to finish admiring the loft because Mary Margaret starts speaking.

 

“How are you? How was the drive? Was their traffic? There must have been traffic because you’re late. David says there’s a surprising amount of tourist activity in town. Do you want something to eat? I have some chicken staying warm in the oven if you want it.”

 

Everything comes out so quickly that she’s not even sure when Mary Margaret had time to breathe in between sentences.

 

“Marg,” Emma says, putting her hands on Mary Margaret’s shoulders and looking her in the eyes, “I will tell you everything and will gladly eat some of that chicken, but you’re going to have to show me where the bathroom is because I’m _dying_ right now.”

 

After Emma answers nature’s call, she and Mary Margaret sit down to eat lunch, and Emma tells her about the drive up. As it so often happens, the conversation spirals and the two of them start to catch up. They text throughout the day and talk on the phone most nights, but it’s comforting to see Mary Margaret as she tells a story about a boy in her class who asked her if she would be his girlfriend while another child asked her that same day where babies came from because her mom was pregnant.

 

Emma tries not to talk about the kids in her class too much because people often get annoyed hearing about children they don’t know and even more annoyed if it’s about how ten of them reached their reading goals for the week two days early. (Killian knows almost half her class by their full names and a story about each of them. Bless his sweet soul for listening to her babble on).

 

But Mary Margaret is also a teacher and shares stories like this of her own, so Emma is glad to just be able to talk about school without the fear of bothering whoever it is she’s talking to.

 

She and Mary Margaret eventually move to the couch with mugs of hot chocolate and Netflix on the TV, Gilmore Girls (an old favorite) queued up, and the lights turned off. She’s not saying she’s above the whole getting plastered on the beach spring break thing – she’s done it before and could likely do it again – but this, she thinks, is a wonderful way to spend her time. And she’s got an entire week of it, making her almost giddy with joy.

 

David calls around five, saying that there was a problem with the computers at the station and he’s staying late to fix them, meaning he won’t be home for dinner, but that he’s sure he’s missing out on some quality girl time. He took the weekend shift so that he could have Tuesday and Wednesday off to spend time with Emma and his wife.

 

When David does eventually get home, it’s half past ten, and Emma is already half asleep, tired from her traveling and early morning. David leans down and kisses her hair, mumbling a _goodnight sweetheart_ , before he goes over to kiss his wife both hello and goodnight. The couple offer to let Emma go up to the guest room, but the couch will do as she’s already drifting off into a dreamless slumber.

 

Monday passes without much incident, Emma and Mary Margaret working on their lesson plans for the rest of their semesters. Because despite what people think, teachers do have to work on their school vacations. David comes home at a normal time tonight, and while they eat dinner, they plan out their next two days together.

 

Tuesday, the Nolans show her around town, taking Emma to a kitschy diner called Granny’s, which has a grilled cheese that makes her _moan_ in buttery goodness. It’s probably an indecent sound, but she doesn’t even care right now. Until she looks up and David is staring at her, trying to stifle a laugh.

 

“What?” she mumbles, mouth still full of bread and cheese.

 

“You eat like a kid sometimes, Em.”

 

“Have you tasted this?” She’s still chewing, throwing table manners out the door. “It’s so damn good.”

 

“I tend to like to eat something with a little less butter.”

 

Now it’s Mary Margaret’s turn to laugh. “David, you once ate an entire thing of movie theater popcorn by yourself. That’s basically all butter.”

 

He wraps his arm around Mary Margaret’s shoulders and tugs her a little closer to him in the booth. “Got to give you something to cuddle up to at night.”

 

It’s cheesy (buttery), but Mary Margaret smiles at her husband (wow that’s still kind of weird to think of them as _married_ ), and picks some fruit off his plate. Emma just smiles at them, thinking about right they are for each other. She’s glad they have each other, and she’s glad she’s here.

 

After lunch they take her to some of the shops downtown, and Emma finds herself two new tops and a pair of jeans to finally replace that pair she ripped at the rehearsal. She usually doesn’t like shopping, but Emma can’t pass up the opportunity for two reasonably priced oversized sweaters.

 

When they reach the docks, Emma is blown away by all of the people and booths, fairy lights strung up above between some of the bigger ships, and the smell of something grilling wafting in the air. She thinks that this is the kind of thing you see in movies, particularly the Hallmark ones where small towns throw these huge festivals that they probably shouldn’t be able to afford, and it just feels, well, like magic.

 

The three of them spend the day there, sampling food in the booths and shopping the local vendors. Every few minutes someone comes up to talk to either David or Mary Margaret, and she smiles at the thought of how well her friends are doing. They are obviously well suited for small town living.

 

When the sun begins to set and the fairy lights turn on, the place actually is magical. A few of the boats are offering rides just a little ways away from the docks, and she and the Nolans buy their tickets and climb onto a ship named the Jewel.

 

Once they’re far enough out, she asks a fellow passenger to take a picture of the three of them, arms wrapped around each other, lighted docks in the background. After she quickly posts it on Instagram, she gets Mary Margaret to take a picture of her standing at the fake wheel of the ship. She stands behind it, leaning to the side, sweater falling off her shoulder, exposing her bare skin, and genuine wide smile on her face. The lights aren’t in the background of the picture, but the sun has set just so that the ocean is a mixture of pink and orange as it rests just above the waves.

 

She looks at the picture and smiles, laughing at how out of place she looks “steering” a ship. She sends the picture to Killian, typing out a quick _miss you, sailor,_ and pocketing her phone to be checked later.

 

They spend about an hour more out on the ocean before returning to the docks, a chill now in the air that makes Emma shiver. She has such a feeling of contentment that it overwhelms her.

 

While her life recently has been busy and relatively stressful, it’s still a thousand times better than she thought it would be when she was eight years old and in the back of her social worker’s car, leaving yet another foster home who didn’t want her anymore. Then, she thought that she would never be happy. It’s a deep thought for a child to have, but Emma never got the opportunity to be a normal kid. She always longed for it, the carefreeness that her classmates had, but right now, right now she feels it.

 

She’s just _happy_.

 

And when she crawls into bed that night, tired down to her very bones, she goes to check her phone and sees where Killian replied to her message from earlier.

 

_“Beautiful.”_

 

In the morning she wakes with the sun, something that is very un-Emma like, and decides to go for a run. It’s been awhile since she’s been able to run on anything other than a treadmill at the gym, and she’s excited to actually be able to feel the wind against her skin, no matter how cliché that is.

 

Just as she’s walking out the door, David walks out of his bedroom dressed in gym clothes and running shoes, seemingly having the same idea as Emma.

 

“Want some company?” He asks, grabbing his keys off the kitchen counter, like he’s joining her no matter what her answer is.

 

“Only if you can keep up, old man.”

 

They run what has to be five miles, and Emma’s lungs and thighs burn in equal ferocity. It hurts, but it feels damn good.

 

When they return, Mary Margaret is up and cooking some sort of breakfast casserole. She’s always been more inclined in the culinary arts than Emma was. When they were living together, Emma thrived on her home cook meals. Now she eats mostly take out and frozen meals, though she does make a mean pasta.

 

So, despite her sweat, she goes up to hug Mary Margaret and thank her for cooking. She’s burned a lot of calories and after her shower, she’s going to chow down.

 

They’re going to the beach today, hoping that the weather will be warm enough to actually do some sunbathing, even though she knows it won’t be, but Emma takes the time to shave her legs anyways. She throws on her bikini underneath a sweater and leggings, because she’s hopeful, but she’s realistic. She knows they’ll spend about thirty minutes hoping for sun before they pack up their bags and head back to the loft to watch TV or read books. Exciting lot they are.

 

It ends up being unseasonably warm, despite weather reports and Emma’s pessimism, and they spend a few hours on the beach, lounging and reading their novels. Emma can feel the sun on her face and already knows a constellation of freckles is going to appear across her face.

 

When her stomach growls for the third time in fifteen minutes, they head back to the loft for a late lunch, eating leftovers from breakfast and drinking wine.

 

Breakfast and wine in the afternoon. A very adult combination.

 

At around six, despite having the day off, David gets called into work. There was some sort of altercation at the local pub, and he needs to help the other deputy.

 

“Who gets so drunk they get into a fight at six in the evening?”

 

Mary Margaret giggles, undoubtedly having had too much to drink, much like those at the pub. “It’s probably the tourists. People do weird things when they’re on vacation. And I know some college kids have come up here for spring break.”

 

“Really?” Emma questions, shocked that this is a destination town for college kids.

 

“Don’t act so surprised. You’re a college kid, and you’re here, Ems.”

 

“To see you.”

 

“And I’m glad for it.” Mary Margaret reaches her glass out, clearly intending to clink her wine with Emma’s in a toast. So Emma meets her halfway, clinking their glasses together.

 

“Me too, Marg.”

 

“How many bar fights,” Mary Margaret starts, taking another sip of her wine, “do you think Killian has had to break up since he started working at the Velvet Rabbit?”

 

Emma snorts, thinking about how two weeks ago this guy was so drunk that he was fighting with himself in the mirror in the bathroom and Killian had to go talk him down after the guy broke the glass. And that was a tame incident.

 

“Definitely more than David will here.”

 

And speak of the devil, her phone starts to ring, picture of Killian with a sunburn in the shape of his sunglasses on his face giving her his meanest glare, popping up on the screen.

 

She answers the call, putting her phone on speaker and placing it back on the coffee table so that it’s between she and Mary Margaret.

 

“Hello, sailor.”

 

“Hello, beautiful,” he answers back, ever the charmer. He sounds relaxed, which is good. He’s been working almost as much as he’s been studying. And that’s saying something because the man spends most of his time with his nose in a textbook.

 

Mary Margaret coughs from her place on the couch, letting Killian know he’s on speaker. “Hi, Killian,” she beams, voice cheerful. “You’re on speaker, so I’m here too.”

 

“Oh darling,” Killian draws out, voice almost seductive, which is totally inappropriate for this phone call, “I know. Who do you think I was calling beautiful?”

 

Mary Margaret giggles again, blush rising up her cheeks, and if David didn’t learn to love Killian in the past few years, he would _hate_ him for flirting with his wife right now.

 

(Will she ever get used to David and Mary Margaret being _married_? Probably not.)

 

“Oh, Killian,” Mary Margaret giggles out, clearly in a good mood tonight, “you’re such a flirt. You know that, right?”

 

“Well, I just don’t know what you’re talking about milady. Just speaking the truth.”

 

Emma knows that he must have a shit-eating grin on his face and rolls her eyes. He’s a flirt, and he knows it.

 

“Alright, Casanova,” she scolds, giving him a glare even if he can’t see her, “calm down. What are you doing tonight?”

 

“I’ve got the night off, probably going to catch up on some TV shows and go to bed early, like all of the cool kids do.”

 

“I will kill you and have David hide the evidence if you watch the new Game of Thrones episodes without me.”

 

“You’re a little violent there, Swan.”

 

“And don’t you forget it.”

 

They talk for a little while longer, catching up on their weeks, and Killian asking Mary Margaret about her students, something he knew would elongate the conversation. David comes home, and as soon as he finds out they’re talking to Killian, he picks up Emma’s phone and takes it with him to the kitchen, and talks with his friend without anyone else while he makes himself dinner.

 

Thirty minutes later her phone is returned to her, call ended, and she, David, and Mary Margaret settle down to watch whatever is on TV.

 

The next few days go by quickly, full of laughter and good food, trips to Granny’s where Emma eats good food and meets both the kindest and weirdest people. It’s a good week. One of the best she’s had in a long time, and she’s had a lot of good weeks lately.

 

But when Emma is packing up her bags on Sunday morning, she’s overcome with an overwhelming sense of sadness, so different to the sense of contentment she’s had for the last week. This week, it’s been like nothing has changed. The three of them (plus Killian through the phone and through spirit) spending time together like they did when she and Mary Margaret were roommates.

 

It’s just…it’s been _good._

 

And she hates to leave, but she has work in the morning and classes on Tuesday, and life is calling her back to Portland. So she sucks it up and accepts her reality, folding her last shirt and zipping up her suitcase, before she makes her way down the stairs to tell Mary Margaret and David that she has to go.

 

They’re waiting for her in the kitchen, travel mug full of coffee along with a Tupperware of cookies.

 

Such parents, Emma thinks to herself, smiling at the sight of them.

 

Hugs are exchanged, Mary Margaret’s fierce in love and David’s firm in protection, and when she walks out the door she tries to remind herself that she’ll see them again in just over a month.

 

When she arrives home, her apartment feels much emptier than she’s learned to expect, but she knows that’s just a temporary feeling. She grabs one of Mary Margaret’s cookies out of the container, and when she opens the box, there’s a note on top telling her to “ _have a good week at school xo Mary Margaret_.”

 

She smiles to herself at the note, taking a bite out of a cookie, chocolate melting in her mouth.

 

So maybe the apartment doesn’t feel that empty anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who's been reading! I truly appreciate it! I think I've got about 10 chapters written right now, so updates will be pretty regular :)


	6. Chapter Six

Emma was fourteen the first time she saw Killian cry. It was the beginning of their freshman year of high school, three weeks into classes, and he came to school with red-rimmed eyes. She wanted to ask him what was wrong, pull him into a hug, and just let him know that whatever was wrong would end up being okay.

 

She was fourteen. She didn’t know that things were going to be okay. But that’s the mantra she’d been repeating to herself foster home after foster home.

 

But Killian came into class at the last minute, the bell ringing as he slid into his seat, and Mr. Henry started the lecture before she could even ask what’s wrong. He just glances at her, eyes saying a _not now_.

 

The _not now_ lasts all day long, and when she thinks she’s finally going to corner him at lunch, he doesn’t show. She’s not allowed to leave the lunchroom once she enters it, so she just sits there in silence eating her sandwich and watching the cafeteria door.

 

He never shows.

 

When he doesn’t show for the rest of the classes, she feels sick to her stomach. Something is wrong. She doesn’t even care at this point what’s happened. She just wants to know that he’s _okay_.

 

Her stomach stays twisted up for the rest of the day, and she constantly feels like she’s going to throw up. She had a quiz in Spanish during her last period, and she doesn’t even know if she filled out any of the answers. She’s sure she wrote something down, but she’s been so sick with worry that she doesn’t even remember.

 

When the end of the day bell rings, she packs up her bag as quickly as she can and runs to the bus line, jumping onto Killian’s instead of hers. She’ll have to tell her foster parents that she had to work on a project after school or something else school related – they don’t care where she goes as long as she’s home by curfew and doesn’t spend their money – but that’s something to think about when the time comes.

 

The bus gets to his street and she’s off as soon as it comes to a complete stop, backpack falling off her shoulders and sweat pooling at her lower back from the summer heat. She can see the front porch swing gently swaying, and she knows it’s Killian sitting there before she can even see his black mop of hair.

 

“Hey, Swan.”

 

He speaks before she’s even walked up the porch steps – she’s not the only one who knows her best friend well – and he sounds tired, not upset. His eyes are no longer red-rimmed, but they’re dull, not the vibrant blue she’s grown accustomed to.

 

He pats the seat next to him, a silent but clear invitation for her to join him.

 

Good, she thinks, he’s not shutting her out.

 

They sit in silence for what feels like hours but is more likely thirty minutes, legs swinging in correlation with the swing. Her legs don’t touch the ground, but Killian went through a growth spurt over the summer, so when he forgets to lift his legs, his feet scrape against the ground, causing the swing to come to a halt.

 

Finally ( _finally_ ) he speaks. He doesn’t look at her though, looks straight ahead into the neighbor’s front yard.

 

“Liam’s leaving.” It’s more of a whisper than anything, and she almost misses it in the noises of the street.

 

“Liam’s leaving,” he whispers a little louder this time, an audible gulp between each word. “He’s signed up to be a part of the Navy. Says he wants to do something with his life, that he can’t do that here. That he – …”

 

He pauses here, seemingly composing himself. He’s still not looking at her, but he’s got his hand resting on her forearm.

 

“… - he says he wants to be better than our father, Swan. But isn’t he doing the same? Leaving me and mom, not knowing when he’s going to return.”

 

She hasn’t felt the need to speak before now, just letting him work through his emotions, but now she knows she has to say something, can’t let Killian go on thinking his brother would intentionally hurt him.

 

“Killian,” she whispers, almost as quietly as when he first spoke and nowhere near as confident in her words. “Liam’s not like your father. He’s better than that. I don’t have a dad,” he squeezes her forearm a little tighter, “but I know that a man who abandons you like that isn’t a dad. Your father _knew_ you for years and was still so much of a scumbag that he didn’t stay.”

 

She feels tears gather in her eyes, trying as hard as she can to hold them back as she tries to muster just the smallest bit of wisdom about how to make this better.

 

“Liam,” she continues, “is getting a job. Yes, it’s one that takes him away from you, but it’s not forever. He’ll come back. You’ll be able to talk to him a lot of the time. Will it suck? Totally. But he’s gonna come back, and he’ll probably be happier than he is working at the auto shop. It doesn’t seem like it now, and you have every right to be upset, but this could be a good thing.”

 

He doesn’t say anything back, and she worries her bottom lip between her teeth, almost hard enough to break flesh.

 

“You’re not alone. Your mom will be here.”

 

“And you?” he asks, speaking for the first time since her attempt to comfort him.

 

“And me,” she confirms, moving to squeeze his forearm like he did to her earlier.

 

They sit in silence after that as she lets him process his emotions. He’s going through a lot, she knows, and she just wishes there was a way to make it, to make him, all better.

 

She glances over at him, and his silent tears fall like the rain in April, steady and seeming to never end. She doesn’t know what to do. She’s been through a lot in her life, but she’s never had someone she just _loves_ with her entire being before, so she doesn’t know what it would be like to love someone and have them leave, even if it was for the best.

 

She wonders if her parents felt like this when they left her, but she knows they didn’t. You don’t leave your child if you love them. And if you do love them and leave them, you do better than leaving them in a city park, where both anyone and no one can find them.

 

She pushes her own dark thoughts to the back of her mind. Her demons can rise another day. Right now, right now she just pulls Killian into her arms and lets him cry over missing his brother before he’s even gone.

 

* * *

 

 

The old saying about April bringing showers rings true now, as Emma swears it’s been pouring for a week straight, and she’s not sure if she remembers what it’s like for the sun to be shining.

 

Not that she’s dramatic or anything.

 

Not at all.

 

She’s walking on Killian’s street, willing her old rain jacket to actually propel away the rain, when she sees a familiar face get out of a cab. Before she knows it she’s running down the street, probably looking absolutely mental, and throwing herself at him, limbs crashing together in a messy hug.

 

“ _Birdie_ ,” Liam almost sighs into her hair, wrapping his arms so tightly around her she can’t even breathe. “I’m so bloody glad to see you, lass.”

 

His accent is strong, so much like Killian’s.

 

“I’m so ‘bloody’ glad to see you, too.”

 

Liam chuckles at her poor imitation of that strong accent, and she pulls back from his embrace and harshly slaps him on the chest, making him gasp in surprise.

 

“Wait! Does Killian know you’re here? He said you weren’t supposed to get here for another two weeks? Oh my God. We have to go see him. He’s at work right now, but it’s only four, so the bar won’t be busy. Oh, he’s going to be so excited. I just can’t believe you’re actually here.”

 

Emma says it all so quickly, words tumbling out of her mouth like a waterfall, that Liam’s not sure if she’s even speaking the English language.

 

“Lass, slow down.” He’s using his calming voice, one Emma’s heard him use on Killian every time he’s been worried about school. “Let’s go inside and get out of this rain. You’ve got a key, right?”

 

Emma nods in affirmation before she leads Liam into Killian’s fifth-floor walkup, absolutely talking his head off the entire way up, hand closed over Liam’s forearm as she guides him to the apartment. Usually there’s nothing she hates more than the stairs to Killian’s apartment, but she’s so hyped up on adrenaline that she doesn’t even notice.

 

“You can just put your stuff anywhere. Do you want something to eat or drink? I don’t think he’s been to the supermarket this week, but I’d be willing to share some of my pop tarts with you. I know that he doesn’t eat them.”

 

“Can you put on a pot of coffee while I change clothes?”

 

“Yeah, no problem,” she says as she starts the coffee maker. “You must be exhausted.”

 

“Not an issue, Birdie. Just figured it’s going to be a long night. I’ve got a little brother to reunite with on top of my favorite girl.”

 

“Younger,” Emma corrects, almost automatically, since Killian isn’t here to do it.

 

Liam almost snorts at her, genuine smile gracing a face she’s only seen on FaceTime for the past few years. “You spend too much time with Killian.”

 

“Oh most definitely,” Emma says as she hops up onto Killian’s kitchen counter and starts eating some of the aforementioned pop tarts while Liam makes his way to the bathroom to change. “Does your mom know you’re home?”

 

“No,” he shouts back, “I’m going to see her tomorrow when she gets home from work.”

 

“They’re both going to be so excited, Liam. I almost feel like it’s cheating for me to see you first.”

 

The coffee maker beeps, and Liam walks over after he finishes changing into some jeans and a T-shirt to fix them both a cup of coffee before cradling his hand against her cheek.

 

“Think nothing of it, Emma. You’ve always been a Jones girl to me. Now let’s go see that _younger_ brother of mine.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Come here often, sailor?”

 

Killian is absentmindedly wiping down the bar counter while reading one of his textbooks when Emma slides onto one of the stools at the counter. She looks like a slightly wet golden retriever, hair matted down to her head and frizzing around her temples, and he doesn’t understand why she would come to the bar at four in the afternoon when he knows she has an exam in two days.

 

“What are you doing here, love?” He moves to grab her a beer, knowing that she didn’t ask, but probably wants something to drink if she’s here. It’s Tuesday, so he knows she had class with that devil of a man, Dr. Benefield, so it’s possible that she’s just had one of those days and didn’t want to be alone.

 

She doesn’t answer right away, so he turns from the tap to see her casually tapping away at her phone, a slight smile on her face that he can tell she’s trying to hide.

 

He doesn’t like to think himself a jealous man, especially because Emma is not even his to begin with, but his mind is suddenly in overdrive thinking about who she could be texting, and why she’s trying to hide her smile from him. He would just assume it to be Mary Margaret or Ruby or one of her friends from class, but he just has this horrible gut feeling that there’s something she’s keeping from him.

 

He knows he hasn’t gotten to spend time with her lately, as much as they try to, but it just seems that their schedules are determined to keep them apart. He’s thought a million times about how he just wants to tell her that he is just desperately, hopelessly in love with her, and while there are moments when he suspects she feels the same, he’s not sure if it is love he sees in her eyes or if it’s the affection one feels when staying friends for twelve years.

 

And suddenly he feels like his heart is about to stop working at the thought that she may have started seeing someone.

 

He needs to get a grip.

 

“Oh, um…I,” she stutters, seemingly not knowing how to answer his simple question as to why she’s visiting him at work. She tucks her hair behind her ears, trying to tame her curls and takes a sip of the beer he just placed in front of her. “I’m meeting someone here.”

 

Well, fuck.

 

Grip gone.

 

“What…what…who are you meeting?” His voice is higher pitched than it has been since he went through puberty, and he’s furiously scratching behind his ear.

 

She flutters her eyelashes up at him, and he swears she’s blushing.

 

Damn.

 

He loves her.

 

And even though he’s watched her go on what feels like a million dates over the years, this one fucking hurts.

 

He tries to compose himself, to not be a blubbering idiot, but it’s proving to be a little bit more difficult than he thought.

 

“I didn’t know you were seeing anyone, love.”  

 

She takes another sip and waves him off, as if this is no big deal, when he feels like he’d rather go outside and catch pneumonia from the rain – he’s obviously a dramatic arse.

 

“Oh, it’s not a big deal. I actually just ran into him earlier today. I think you’ll really like him, Killian. He reminds me a lot of you.”

 

Of fucking course he does.

 

Just then her phone chimes on the counter. “Oh, he’s almost here. Can you get him some rum? That’s his favorite.”

 

Of fucking course it is.

 

Killian turns to the shelf behind him, trying to decide if he wants to give this guy the shitty stuff or actually be good at his job. Later, he’ll be glad he chose the cheap rum because he drops the entire bottle on the ground, shattering it, when he turns around.

 

“Hi, little brother.”

 

Killian just stands there, rum dripping down his jeans and glass at his feet, because not even in his wildest dreams did he expect Liam to be standing there when he turned around.

 

“Bloody hell.”

 

And before he knows it, he’s jumping over the counter and pulling Liam into the tightest embrace he’s ever been a part of. He knows Liam is talking to him, but the blood is rushing through his head and all he can focus on is the feel of Liam’s hands on his back. He wants to know how this is possible, but he doesn’t even care right now. He just cares that his brother is here.

 

Bloody hell indeed.

 

When he’s calmed down and can actually think and hear and _breathe_ , Liam tells him all about how he’s known that he was coming home this week, but that he wanted to surprise Killian and their mom, because when else is he going to get the opportunity to do something like this?

 

Killian is in pure euphoria and when he removes himself from his brother’s embrace, he suddenly remembers Emma and her date, having not given Liam time to explain how Emma had spontaneously been a part of this surprise, and suddenly euphoria feels like when you’re miserably drunk and not pleasantly buzzed.

 

He whips his head around and he sees her standing off to the side, phone in hand, trying to wipe away the tears that have fallen down her cheeks, and he realizes that he is an idiot, an absolute idiot.

 

She was obviously helping Liam surprise him, and he doesn’t think he’s ever loved her more.

 

He wipes her tears away with his knuckles and rests his forehead against hers. “So you’re dating my brother?”

 

She snorts. She actually snorts at his poor attempt at a joke before casually replying, “Oh yeah, we’ve been going real hot and heavy for awhile now. Thought I’d feel him up at the bar in front of you.”

 

“Hot and heavy?”

 

“He’s a very passionate lover.”

 

Killian grabs her face between his hands and places a kiss on her forehead. “Thank you, Emma. This means the world to me.”

 

Eventually, Killian has to get back to work, as the rush hour traffic starts to flow in, but Liam stays at the counter and talks with Killian until his shift ends. Luckily, he only works until eight tonight, so they can go back to Killian’s apartment and truly revel in Liam being home.

 

Emma already had to leave to go study for her exam, but since all of her belongings are at Killian’s, she’ll be there when he gets home.

 

He’s not sure he’s ever been happier.

 

This is just…

 

This is everything.

 

When the Jones brothers walk in his apartment door exactly fifteen minutes after Killian’s shift ends, Emma is standing at the kitchen counter, in her plaid pajama pants with her hair piled sloppily on top of her head and her black-rimmed glasses perched on her nose. She’s on the phone with who he assumes is Mary Margaret because they usually speak around this time in the evenings, when she gives him one of her small smiles.

 

He makes his way to her, she’s a bloody siren all the time, and wraps his arms around her neck from behind, inhaling her scent. She’s taken a shower since he last saw her and smells of the vanilla soap she keeps in his shower.

 

“Is that Mary Margaret?”

 

She covers her phone with her hand. “Yep. She and David want to come visit graduation weekend and stay for the Sunday after. Maybe go to a game or something.”

 

“Aye, Dave texted me about it earlier. Sounds like a brilliant idea.”

 

She nods and moves herself out of his arms so that she can head to the bedroom to continue her phone call.

 

Killian goes to grab a few beers out of the fridge, knowing that he and Emma have early mornings, and turns around to see Liam standing there grinning like the cat that ate the canary.

 

“Sooooo,” Liam drawls out, moving to grab one of the beers in Killian’s hands and plopping himself down on a barstool.

 

“Yes, brother?” Liam takes a sip of beer. Killian takes a bigger one.

 

“So, tell me why you still haven’t our lovely little birdie that you _love_ her and want to _marry_ her and have a million tiny babies with her?”

 

Killian takes back every fond thought he’s had about his brother in the past four and a half hours.

 

“Shut up, you ponce. Don’t let her hear you.” Killian hisses the words out in an angry whisper.

 

Liam raises his hands in an attempt to placate his brother. “Hey now, I’m just pointing out the obvious. You should just tell her.”

 

“It’s not that simple.”

 

“What’s not that simple?”

 

Killian almost smashes his second bottle of alcohol of the night when Emma walks back in the room and sits down in her spot on the couch.

 

Killian feels his throat constrict because while most of the time he considers himself to be quick on his feet, right now it feels like he has fucking fins.

 

“I was just telling Killian that I was thinking about going to see an old girlfriend of mine, but I wasn’t sure how to go about it. I mean, I haven’t spoken to her since I was deployed and all that.”

 

“Oh, um.” Emma turns to Killian, green eyes absolutely begging for some kind of help, but Killian isn’t even sure if Liam is telling the truth or not. “Killian was right. It’s not that simple.”

 

“Shouldn’t you be worried about how to tell mum you’re home early first?”

 

Liam doesn’t respond, but he goes to take his seat next to Emma on the couch, leaving Killian the armchair as his only seating option, which was probably his intention to begin with. Back for a few hours and already thinking of ways to irritate him.

 

Bloody brothers.

 

“I was thinking of just going over and knocking on her door when she gets off of work tomorrow.”

 

“So you plan on having her pass out on the doorstop?”

 

“Pretty much, yeah.”

 

The three of them spend the rest of the night catching up, Liam telling a few comedic stories from his time at sea, like how one of his bunkmates had his left eyebrow slowly shaved off in his sleep in small increments so that he didn’t notice until he only had half of an eyebrow left, but he mostly listens to Killian and Emma catch him up on their lives in the past few months. While he’s talked to both of them, it’s different to actually have these conversations in person where he can both see and hear the joy in his brother’s face. It’s a beautiful sight, and he’s glad for it. .

 

Before any of them know it, it’s one in the morning and Emma is curled into the couch, sound asleep. Wordlessly, the brothers start preparing for bed, Killian picking up Emma’s lithe frame and moving her to the bed.

 

After getting Liam some pillows and blankets for the couch, he embraces his brother one final time for the night before brushing his teeth and changing into some sweatpants. He crawls onto his side of the bed – the fact that he has a side of the bed and they’re not even dating not lost on him – and is about two breaths away from being asleep when Emma grabs his hand and squeezes it.

 

“I’m so happy you’re happy, Killian.”

 

“Aye, me too, love.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not abandoning this one, I swear, but I don't really like what I have with it right now, so it's going to go on the back burner for just a bit.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Killian: Does this gown make me seem one degree hotter?**

Emma is in the middle of her planning period – it’s her last day, so she doesn’t know what she’s supposed to be “planning” for since her lead teacher will go back to teaching for the three weeks the kids have left in school – when she checks her phone to see that Killian has taken a picture of himself in his cap and gown. She can tell he’s going for a seductive look, eyes hooded and one side of his lips curved upward into a smirk, but she thinks that not even Killian Jones could make those black gowns look like anything other than a trash bag.

 

But she gives him props for his cheesy joke, even if it’s the Instagram caption of every girl graduating from college this weekend. She’s just obviously not going to acknowledge that she chuckled at it. No, that would inflate his ego, and no one needs that.

 

**Emma: Were you able to pick mine up from the education department?**

 

The text comes in before she even had the opportunity to put her phone down.

**Killian: It took some convincing that I was one Emma L. Swan, but I talked my way into it.**

**Killian: What time are Dave and MM getting here tomorrow?**

Before she can respond, Mrs. Averett, the vice principal of Falmouth, walks into her classroom.

 

And she’s not saying that she’s terrified of this woman.

 

She isn’t.

 

But her heart starts beating a little (a lot) faster than normal when she walks in the room, and if she feels like she’s going to vomit, well, that has nothing to do with this woman’s presence.

 

Definitely not.

 

“Miss Swan,” Emma tosses her phone into her lap, hoping that her boss doesn’t realize she was technically breaking the rules. The rebel. 

 

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Averett.”

 

“Are you excited that today is your last day here?”

 

Emma plasters a smile on her face that doesn't quite reach her eyes because while she is excited about having a break from working, she’s going to miss these kids and a even a few of her coworkers.

 

“I’m excited to go on a little bit of a break after graduation, but this has been a really great experience. And I love these kids, so I’m definitely sad that I won’t see any of them again.”

 

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about, actually.” Emma’s heart starts thumping out of her chest for another reason entirely. “Mrs. Conrad is expecting her first child and has decided to resign.”

 

_Thump. Thump. Thump._

 

“And we have decided to offer you her position, as long as you haven’t already accepted a position somewhere else.”

 

She hasn’t. She hasn’t accepted a position anywhere else. She’s applied and interviewed and spent more time researching every elementary school within a 60-mile radius than any one person should.

 

In the back of her mind, she’s been hoping for a position here. It’s a fantastic school, despite the parking situation, and she knows that statistically student teachers have a 70% chance of accepting a position at the place of their internship, so she knows that hoping for this was not entirely unrealistic.

 

That doesn’t keep her from practically jumping out her own skin in excitement.

 

“Oh,” she beams, failing to hold in her smile despite considering herself a professional woman, “I would absolutely love that. Thank you. Thank you so much, Mrs. Averett.”

 

Emma stumbles out of her seat, full of adrenaline because _she has a job_ \- and it’s close to home and she’s going to have a paycheck and doesn’t have to worry about her bills – to shake Mrs. Averett’s hand and thank her again.

 

They spend the rest of her planning period discussing details of her contract and the job and how Emma needs to come in in two weeks to sign all of her contracts and get her classroom assignment and prep work for the upcoming school year.

 

It’s just, well, a lot.

 

But a lot is good, and she’s so swept up in the moment that she loses track of time and doesn’t realize that it’s time to go pick up her students from Belle in the library until her phone alarm goes off, making her jump.

 

She excuses herself from Mrs. Averett and hurries down the hallway until she reaches the library. She expects her students to be lined up outside, with today’s line leader at the front, but they’re nowhere to be seen. She figures they just got caught up in story time, so she takes the opportunity to go watch them. She wanted to talk to Belle anyways and tell her the good news. Belle is two or three years older than Emma and quickly became one of her best friends here.

 

When she walks in the library, her students are sitting on the rainbow rug, listening to Belle enthusiastically read what sounds like a Goosebumps book, which means the class must have cashed in their reading points to get her to read one of those. They’re about as addicting to kids as Game of Thrones is to adults.

 

Just with no Jon Snow. Such a tragedy.

 

Belle waits to finish the chapter before closing the book, much to the groans of the kids, before saying, “We’ll have to finish next week because it looks like Miss Emma has come to pick you guys up.”

 

Thirty tiny heads whip around to look at her, and she can’t help but smile. While there are days when she wants to rip her hair out because of frustration, she loves these kids.

 

“Hey guys! I know that you guys don’t want to leave Miss French, but we’ve got to do our speed drills.”

 

Thirty loud groans come out of those thirty tiny heads.

 

“I know, I know,” she placates, hands landing on her hips, “but since it’s my last day, we can ask Miss French if she’ll let me borrow her book, and I’ll read it to you instead of doing our English reading.”

 

Thirty loud cheers come out of those thirty tiny heads.

 

The rest of her day goes quickly, and she swears she only cries a little when her kids give her handmade cards and drawings. She knows every day won’t be like this, but today is a good day. She won’t complain.

 

When she gets on the bus to go home, she can finally check her phone and quickly replies to all of her messages and asks Killian if he wants to get dinner at that new Tai place down the street from her apartment. The only person who knows about her job is Belle, and she can’t wait to tell her friends.

 

Growing up, she never could have imagined this.

 

Having so many friends or a college degree (and a freaking job with that college degree) or just a life like she always she dreamed of.

 

She was the girl with no family for so long. And while she never did find parents to adopt her, she found a family of her own.

 

The little lost girl doesn’t feel so lost anymore.

 

* * *

* * *

 

Graduating from college (the actual ceremony) is not like it looks on TV.

 

It’s not this non-stop thrill ride where someone gives an inspiring speech that makes you want to go move actual fucking mountains and then you throw your caps into the air in pure elation.

 

True, someone does give a speech. And you do throw your caps.

 

But the speech is literally by the CEO of a poultry company who makes metaphors using chickens and roosters and eggs, and Killian swears that he made a “why did the chicken cross the road joke” but interchanged the word “road” with “stage.” And that the punch line was “to pick up his diploma.”

 

So Killian does not feel inspired to go move the mountains.

 

He just feels hot in his suit and his gown.

 

And he’d really like some dinner. Just probably not chicken. Or maybe yes chicken.

 

Right now, though, he’s sitting with the other engineering students, in between two of his friends Robin and Will, listening to someone wax poetic about growing up on a farm and turning that into a multi-million dollar business.

 

Is it impressive? Yes.

 

Is it interesting? No.

 

So just as Robin leans over to ask him what came first, the chicken or the egg, he feels his phone vibrate in his pocket. When he pulls it out, he sees that it’s a picture from Emma, graduation cap pinned on the back of her head, jubilant smile on her face. He wishes they didn’t have to sit in their departments because this would be so much better with her by his side.

 

She looks just _stunning._

 

**Emma: Do you both want to go eat chicken but also never eat chicken again?**

She adds a gif of the family from Arrested Development doing a poor attempt at the chicken dance, and he barks out a laugh. She’s managed to take his thoughts and make them a hell of a lot funnier.

 

His laugh gets both Will and Robin to lean over to look at his phone.

 

“Oi,” Will whispers, if he’s even capable of that, “you never told me you had a girlfriend,” he takes the phone out of Killian’s hands, “…and that she was so hot.”

 

“Not his girlfriend,” Robin oh so helpfully adds in, as if Killian wasn’t painfully aware, “just his best friend.”

 

Will almost looks offended. “You’re telling me that you’re not dating this girl?”

 

“Emma,” he adds in quickly, “her name is Emma. And no, we’re not dating.”

 

“So can I date her?”

 

Robin actually snorts, having listened to Killian spin tales of Emma for years now, and Killian has to suppress the urge to tell Will _fuck no, absolutely not_.

 

Instead he says, “That’s up to her, mate.”

 

He grits it out, and it’s painful. But he says it.

 

Will does a little dance in his seat, and while Killian prides himself in being a gentleman, he’s still a man, a sometimes bloody jealous man who very much wants to punch Will Scarlett. Admittedly, not very gentlemanly. 

 

Instead of stewing in his jealousy, he takes a picture to text Emma back.

 

**Killian: You take the actual thoughts out of my head, love.**

A beat passes.

 

**Killian: Do you want to ride to dinner with me or MM and Dave?**

**Emma: Aren’t you driving your mom and Liam?**

**Killian: Nope, separately. Mom wanted to be able to go home whenever**

**Emma: Hmm, I’ll ride with you, Jeeves**

**Killian: Yes, Miss Daisy.**

Eventually, Killian goes back to paying attention to the ceremony. You only graduate once (well, maybe), and he should probably remember more than just the chicken jokes. So he acts like the educated adult that he supposedly is and applauds in all the right places.

 

And when the engineering department is lining up to walk across the stage, he finally feels the emotions of the day start to come to head. It’s not just been four years worth of work. It’s been a lifetime.

 

A lifetime of a deadbeat dad leaving his family when he was eight, relocating to a brand new country at eleven, having his brother leave to join the navy when he was fourteen, helping to support his mom as a single parent the moment he turned sixteen, getting into college at eighteen, graduating from college at twenty two, and having the girl of his dreams by his side ever since that fateful day at the YMCA.

 

It hasn’t been picture perfect, not by a long shot, but he also knows things could have been worse. His mom could have never escaped from a bad marriage. His brother could have never returned from his deployments. He could have grown older never realizing that he could accomplish more than the situation he was born into. He could have never met Emma.

 

The last thought sends a shudder down his spine.

 

But he’s quick to dismiss it. He’s damn proud of himself right now. And when the name ‘Killian Jones’ is called by the announcer, he gives a small smile.

 

When there’s a wolf whistle from his left, originating from somewhere near where the education students are sitting, he beams and gives a wink in Emma’s general direction.

 

Thirty minutes later, when the name ‘Emma Swan’ is called, he gives her the same wolf whistle.

 

She gives him the same wink.

 

When they’re out of the arena where the ceremony was held, he’s waiting by his old dorm room talking to some of his former classmates about plans now that they’re “part of the real world.” He doesn’t have a job yet, but has lined up several interviews, and plans on continuing to work at the bar to pay the bills in the meantime.

 

He’s in the middle of explaining this when a blonde spitfire in a stunning white dress jumps into his arms and circles her arms around his neck.

 

He hugs her as tightly as he can, wrapping one arm around her waist and the other around her thighs to support her weight, and the words _we did it, Killian_ are spoken against his neck in a way that sends a spark of pleasure down his spine.

 

He's so in love with her that it takes his breath away sometimes. 

 

He nods in agreement before placing her back on the ground, still aware of his company and the fact that her dress had ridden up too far to be decent in their current surroundings.

 

She goes red when she realizes this too, and it’s painfully adorable. So he wraps an arm around her waist and tucks her into side, thumbing at the skin at her ribcage shown through the cutout of her dress while he continues to talk to his former classmates.

 

Eventually, Dave and Mary Margaret find their way over to them, and he gets lost in the hugs and well wishes and just general excitement buzzing in the air. When Liam and his mother show up, he feels like he might shed a tear when both of them tell him “I’m so proud of you, _my boy_.”

 

Later, they all pile into their separate cars and make their ways to Back Bay Grill, a nice restaurant that Killian’s mom is splurging on for his graduation. When he pulls into the parking lot, Emma moves to get out of the car, but he stops her, just wanting a moment alone.

 

“I’m so proud of you, sweetheart.”

 

She gives him an inquisitive look, and he knows it’s because they’ve already had this conversation and suddenly there’s a slight tremor in his voice.

 

“I’m proud of you too, Killian.”

 

“No, Swan, seriously.”

 

“I am being serious.”

 

“Emma,” he almost sighs her name out, a quiet whisper in the stillness of the car, “you’ve beaten so many odds today. And every day. I grew up with one parent, and that was bloody hard. You, my love, did this all on your own. Most kids who grow up in the system grow up just full of resentment and hatred and have a hard time surviving, let alone thriving. And I’m not saying you have had it easier than them. I know you haven’t. I’ve been there for all the tears and the drama and the wondering why you weren’t good enough for your parents…”

 

She’s crying now, just a few tears, and he wipes her tears away with his knuckles, knowing she’s going to complain later if he’s gone and messed up her makeup.

 

“…and I just want you to know, darling, that you’re good enough for me. More than good enough. You’re kind and compassionate, fiercely intelligent and quick-witted. You’re a beautiful human being, in every way, and probably the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

 

She’s quiet for a moment, trying to contain her tears, and he feels immensely vulnerable, having just bared almost his entire soul to her (except for an “I love you.” That can wait for another day. Today is a day to celebrate her – their – achievements), and he starts to fear that he’s shared too much.

 

“Goddammit, Killian.”

 

Okay, not the reaction he was expecting. Maybe it should have been if he’s honest with himself.

 

“Too much?” He feels like if he could shrink into a shell like turtles do, he would.

 

But then she’s reaching across the center console of the car to cradle his cheek and run her thumb across the scar under his eye. “No,” she eventually says. “It’s just that you’re a damn mastermind with words and feelings, and I’m not. And how am I supposed to respond in kind?”

 

He wraps his hand around the wrist cradling his face.

 

“I didn’t say it fishing for you to compliment me. I said it because I wanted to.”

 

“I…” she starts, then seemingly changes her mind on what she wanted to say, “…I just wanted to thank you, Killian.”

 

He gives her his softest smile, one full of affection, and is trying to just soak in this moment when there’s a loud knock on his front windshield, making both Emma and Killian repel backwards.

 

When he turns his head to look, Dave is standing there with a shit-eating grin on his face, knowing that he just scared both of them shitless.

 

“Let’s go grads,” David yells through the glass. “It may be your day, but that’s not going to keep me from eating without you.”

 

Killian lets out a laugh and tells Dave they’ll be right there.

 

“You know he’s not kidding, right? He’ll eat without us.”

 

“Of that, I have no doubt.” He reaches over her to open her door before opening his. “Let’s go, love.”

 

* * *

* * *

 

Emma has never ordered steak at a restaurant that’s not a chain before, but she just graduated from college, so why the hell not?

 

Of course, she’s an elementary school teacher, so she makes very little money, so splurging like that probably isn’t wise.

 

Look at her, out of college for two hours and already making poor financial decisions.

 

But right now, she’s just going to ignore the little voice in her head that says be reasonable and have a good night.

 

Why shouldn’t she? She’s at dinner with so many people that she loves. She’s basically been walking on air since Mary Margaret and David came back to town Friday night. If she could be physically attached at the hip with Marg, she’s pretty sure she would be.

 

It’s one thing to talk on the phone almost every day and to text and to have the occasional face time, but it’s another thing entirely to see Mary Margaret’s smile when she’s talking to her or to have David’s arm wrap around her shoulders when they’re watching TV.

 

God, and to hear and see them laugh in person. It’s incredible.

 

She knew she missed them, just not that much.

 

Having them here may possibly be the best feeling in the world.

 

Well, Killian is rubbing his thumb across the exposed skin at her ribcage again and it’s setting her body on what has to be actual fire, so maybe the second best.

 

She really shouldn’t rank them.

 

“So,” Liam starts after their waitress takes away their menus, “when are you crazy kids leaving for your trip?”

 

Emma and Killian, along with several friends, have rented out a house in Boothbay for an extended weekend since this was probably the last time any of them could go on vacation without having to worry about taking vacation days. It wasn’t much, but it was on the beach and affordable, so that’s all anyone really cared about.

 

“Emma and I,” Killian started, still rubbing her side, which was going to make her spontaneously combust sooner rather than later, “are going to head up on Wednesday, and most everyone else is going to join us sometime on Friday or Saturday.”

 

“You should come, Liam!” Mary Margaret, bless her soul, is offering up the invite before she even thinks of consulting everyone else. Not that it matters. Anyone who knows Killian, knows Liam by default, whether that be personally or through stories Killian has told.

 

“I’m sure you wouldn’t want this old man to intrude on your vacation.”

 

He looks so serious about it, like he’s actually concerned that he would be a bother, so Emma reaches across the table and grabs his hand.

 

“Liam, for one, you’re only 30. That is in no way old.”

 

“And it hasn’t kept you from spending time with us the past few weeks, now has it brother?”

 

Killian is being cheeky and lightly pinches her side as he says this.

 

“Aaaand,” Emma continues, ignoring Killian completely, “going on what your _little…”_ okay so maybe not completely ignoring him, “…brother said, we love spending time with you. You’re personally my favorite Jones brother.”

 

“Oi!” The pinch is a little bit harder now, and Emma wishes she wasn’t ticklish in that exact spot because she giggles. She _fucking_ giggles when all she wants to do is glare at him for doing that on purpose. “Lass, you know that’s not true.”

 

He leans his head down to whisper in her ear. “Darling, I can take back everything I said not an hour earlier.”

 

She uses all of her focus to keep from shivering at the feel of his breath on her ear and makes the decision just to ignore him. He can’t take the words back. He already said them. She already heard them. She already cried over them. It’s too late now sucker.

 

“Liam,” she squeezes his hand to show him she’s serious, “come up this weekend when you get off of work with everyone else. I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

 

“Alright, lass,” he agrees, “that sounds like a good plan to me.”

 

“Ooooh,” Mary Margaret coos, and Emma swears she’s going to clap her hands in giddy anticipation, “this is going to be so exciting! It’s like we’re getting the entire gang back together for one last hoorah!”

 

“Mary Margaret,” David laughs at his wife, grabbing her hand on the table, “we literally have a trip planned with Emma and Killian on your fall break. And we live three hours away from them.”

 

“It’s just different, David.”

 

“Okay, honey.” David laughs and moves to wrap their joined hands around his wife’s shoulder, kissing the top of her head.

 

That gentle show of affection makes something in Emma ache for that kind of love. Just as her mind is starting to spiral, something she promised she wouldn’t do after her little meltdown in the car, Killian squeezes her hip comfortingly, like he just knows what she was thinking.

 

Which, granted, he probably does.

 

So Emma just takes the comfort where she can get it, from the man she so deeply loves, even if he doesn’t love her back – not in the way she does – and thinks that this night couldn’t be more perfect.

 

That is, until Killian’s mom speaks.


	8. Chapter Eight

“So, Killian,” Ms. Jones starts, placing her utensils back on her plate, chicken half eaten, “have you talked to Isabelle lately?”

 

Emma feels Killian tense, hand stopping its motions on her side. Who the hell is Isabelle? She doesn’t know any Isabelle.

 

Killian clears his throat before speaking, taking a bite out of his meal to apparently waste time. Or maybe that’s just how Emma feels because suddenly everything is happening at a slower pace, and the only thing she can hear is her heartbeat echoing in her head and she wants it to _stop_.

 

“Aye, took her to dinner last week.”

 

Emma feels like her heart is going to leave her body, except this time it’s not through its rapid thumping, it’s because her heart just dropped.

 

Is it in her stomach?

 

No longer in her body?

 

Stuck somewhere weird like her left calf?

 

She doesn’t really know and honestly doesn’t care, because suddenly this beautiful day doesn’t feel so beautiful anymore.

 

She has no right to feel jealous. She and Killian aren’t dating. He’s not cheating on her. He has every right to go out to dinner with whomever he wants. It’s just that it’s been two years since he last had a girlfriend, and she swears he hasn’t gone on a date in literal months.

 

But he always tells her when he goes on dates, at the very least just so she knows where he is. Same for her. He always knows when she goes out. Of course, he doesn’t know that she goes out in some feeble attempt to move on from him, but that’s neither here nor there.

 

She’s just freaking out now because it’s been so long since she’s had to hear about one of his dates, and if his mom knows about her, then he’s obviously at least semi-serious about her.

 

But why didn’t he tell her? How long have they been dating? Are they seriously dating? Like, relationship level or just going on dates?

 

Why didn’t he tell her?

 

Well, shit.

 

“Oh that’s wonderful,” Ms. Jones says, a wide smile on her face. “Isn’t she just the sweetest little thing?”

 

“Yeah, she’s great, mum. I like her a lot.”

 

Is Emma dead?

 

She feels like she’s dead. Or having some out of body experience. And something is definitely lodged in her throat. Or maybe that’s her stomach. Didn’t she lose the already? She doesn’t know because she doesn’t know what’s happening anymore.

 

She can feel Mary Margaret’s eyes on her, but Emma can’t look at her. If she looks at her, she might cry.

 

She’s not going to cry.

 

No. She refuses. She’s not going to cry over Killian going on a date because that’s just fucking ridiculous.

 

The rest of dinner goes by in a blur. She’s not entirely sure what all was talked about because she’s stuck inside her own head. And she hates it. Hates that she’s being this pathetic. She just graduated from college and has a job and has broken at least 20 different stereotypes and statistics for foster kids today.

 

But this fucking _hurts,_ and even though she can admit that being a strong woman means being vulnerable sometimes because being vulnerable means being human, she’s not too big of a fan of being vulnerable right now.

 

When their bills are paid and goodbyes are said, everyone piles into their cars. She seriously thinks about riding with Mary Margaret and David, but she realizes that she would have to explain that one, and she’s a horrible liar. Besides, they’re all going to Killian’s, so there is no reason for her not to ride with him. She could try to come up with a reason to need to go home, but then Killian will question her. If he questions her, she’ll likely not be able to hold it together, and she’s not going to fall apart.

 

The ride is quiet, but not awkward. The radio is on, softly playing some sort of indie song, and Emma is watching the cars ahead of them with an interest that she’s never shown before. She can’t tell if Killian knows something is wrong with her or if he’s innocently oblivious. If anything, he’s probably wondering why she hasn’t asked him about the conversation at dinner. They talk about everything, so him being interested in someone new is definitely a conversation they should have had.

 

The minute Killian pulls into his parking spot, Emma gets out of his jeep and starts heading for the stairs, taking her heels off as she goes. Yeah, it’s probably disgusting to walk around barefoot, but there’s no way she’s walking up five flights of stairs in her heels.

 

“In a hurry, love?”

 

She doesn’t know why, but she’s surprised when he speaks. She guesses she just got used to the silence of the car ride. It’s not like they haven’t gone long periods without speaking before. It would be crazy if they hadn’t. It’s just been an emotional day. She’s obviously not at her most alert.

 

“I want to change clothes. This dress can get kind of uncomfortable.”

 

In what seems like an instant, he’s at her side, hand ghosting against the small of her back. “Well, you look beautiful, but I understand. I’d like nothing more than to put on my pajamas.”

 

“You are the only guy I know who has matching pajamas.”

 

He wiggles his eyebrows at her, and she knows what’s coming before he even says it. “You seeing a lot of guys in their nightclothes?”

 

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

 

He barks out a laugh and for a minute, things seem normal.

 

She feels a grin blooming on her face, and as much as she’d like to go eat the ice cream she left in Killian’s freezer and throw herself a pity party of one, she knows that today is a big day in her life. And she’s not going to let something as petty as jealousy bring her down.

 

She might not succeed with that, but the least she can do is try.

 

After she changes into her leggings and her favorite T-shirt, and Killian changes into _matching_ plaid pajamas, they start to clean up Liam’s sleeping arrangements in the living room so that David and Mary Margaret aren’t sitting on Liam’s used sheets when they arrive.

 

Not thirty seconds after Killian has folded Liam’s sheets, David comes busting through the unlocked front door singing out “honey I’m hoooome” with a giggling Mary Margaret behind him.

 

And if Emma thinks that Mary Margaret’s giggling is loud, it’s nothing compared to the snorts that Emma produces when Killian places a sloppy wet (and loud) kiss on David’s cheek to welcome him home.

 

“This place looks just the same.” Mary Margaret is running her hands along the bookshelf, looking at the pictures Killian keeps there.

 

“Marg, it’s only been four months since you moved.”

 

“Oh I know, Emma. It just feels like so much longer.”

 

“I don’t think your first four months of marriage are supposed to go that slowly, Dave.”

 

David glares at Killian like he wants to murder or more likely seriously maim him, and yet Killian looks entirely unfazed, grinning at his own joke.

 

Mary Margaret, meanwhile, pays them no attention. Instead, she picks up a frame of Emma and Killian at her wedding. They’re sitting on the porch swing facing the lake, wide smiles on their faces, and Emma’s arm around Killian’s shoulders. It’s one of Emma’s favorites. “This is cute.”

 

“Hear that, Killian,” David has his own shit-eating grin on his face now, “you’re cute.”

 

As much as Emma has missed Mary Margaret, she knows that Killian has missed David just as much. They were hesitantly thrown into their friendship through Emma and Mary Margaret, and while they weren’t too keen on each other at first (David always thought Killian was flirting with Mary Margaret. In hindsight, he probably was), they’ve grown to really love each other.

 

_Bromance of the century_ , Emma thinks.

 

Killian is grabbing a pack of beers out of the fridge when he asks the room as a whole, “do you guys want to stay here or go back to Emma’s tonight?”

 

Mary Margaret and David got into town two nights ago and have been staying in Emma’s room while she takes the couch. Mary Margaret took all of her furniture with her when she moved, so while Emma may live in a two-bedroom apartment, there are not two beds. And Emma’s not saying that she’s ready for them to leave because she’s definitely not, but she wants her bed back.

 

David looks at him like he’s absolutely crazy. “Where would we even sleep?”

 

“You could have my bed, the couch, or I have an air mattress that I was going to break out next week at the lake house.”

 

“What about Liam?”

 

“He’ll sleep wherever.”

 

David seems to contemplate it for a second, eyes darting to Mary Margaret as they have a conversation in complete silence, the way that only two people who know each other so well can do, before Mary Margaret just shrugs her shoulders and says, “air mattress it is! Oh it’ll be like we’re having a sleepover!”

 

Mary Margaret is clapping her hands together and looks like someone just told her that world hunger was solved, not that she would be sleeping in a one bedroom apartment with five people, one of which she knows snores (Liam).

 

Emma just laughs at her friend and moves to wrap her arm around Mary Margaret’s shoulder. “You’re just the cutest, Marg. Now come on, let’s eat junk food, drink beer, and watch movies like people at all good sleepovers should do.”

 

They end up watching comedy specials on Netflix instead of movies, some John Mulaney and Jack Whitehall, a mixture for the American and European audience gathered in the apartment tonight. The night is filled with laughter, and while the “who is Isabelle” question is still at the back of Emma’s mind (or a little further up if she’s being completely honest), she’s glad that she hasn’t let her irrational thoughts consume her. Tonight is a night for friends, and she’s going to appreciate the feeling of nostalgia she has, as this is just like so many of their nights in college.

 

And it’s perfect.

 

Liam stumbles back into the apartment around one in the morning, having gone out with a few of his buddies after dinner and seeing his mom home. When he not so graciously flops onto the floor in front of Emma’s crossed legs, he smells like alcohol and sweat.

 

“Now,” he starts, looking up at Emma from his spot on the ground, “I’m not saying that I imbibed too much tonight. But I may be wanting my bed sooner rather than later.”

 

She lets out a hearty laugh and ruffles his hair, much like you do a child…or a dog.

 

“If you go get yourself a shower and some water and Advil, we’ll get your couch ready.”

 

Liam lets out some gruff murmurs, slowly getting himself up and going to shower in the bathroom.

 

The rest of the group gets to work cleaning up the living room, picking up beer bottles and plates from the frozen pizza they ate. Emma is grabbing pillows out of the linen closet when she hears Killian tell David that _he doesn’t have to blow the air mattress up with his mouth, there’s a bloody pump for that_. She and Mary Margaret both look at each other and smirk, knowing that the boys are happier to see each other than they would ever admit.

 

Once Liam exits the bathroom, she and Killian let David and Mary Margaret get ready for bed. It’s a bit of an inconvenience having five people share one bathroom, especially since you can only get to the bathroom by walking though the bedroom, and Emma just _knows_ that Mary Margaret is going to have to pee at an ungodly hour.

 

After what feels like an eternity of having to pee (she’ll have to get up to pee at an ungodly hour as well if she’s honest with herself), David and Mary Margaret make to lie down on the air mattress in the living room. David kisses her forehead and says goodnight, whispering an _I’m proud of you, kid_ that makes her want to hug him and never let go.

 

But she does let go, because she doesn’t want to seem clingy, but mostly because she really has to pee. Also, today has been a rollercoaster of emotions and honestly she’s about one kind look away from either bursting into tears or yelling at someone and causing Killian’s crotchety old neighbor to come over and complain, as he does about every other day.

 

She also thinks that she’s so exhausted that when her head hits the pillow, she’ll fall asleep.

 

But she doesn’t.

 

She can’t.

 

Even with the rhythmic sounds of Killian’s breathing to her side, _especially_ with the rhythmic sounds of Killian’s breathing to her side, she can’t help but think about dinner. Who the hell is Isabelle? How did he meet her? How many dates have they been on? Why does his mom know about her? Why _doesn’t_ she know about her?

 

Her heart is beating quickly in her chest, like a drum in a marching band that’s been contained in a very small room, and when Killian mumbles a _go to sleep, love_ and wraps his arm loosely around her waist, like he has so many times before, her body goes rigid, his touch a fiery burn instead of a soothing comfort. 

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

They spend Sunday with the Nolans, going to brunch (Killian doesn’t understand why men complain about it because the food is bloody _fantastic_ ) and a Sea Dogs minor league baseball game.

 

The game is good. The food is great. The company is fantastic.

 

It’s just been a bloody wonderful weekend. He’s not quite sure if it could get better. Well, that’s not true. Emma has been acting odd today. Something is wrong. He knows. He just doesn’t know what.

 

He feels like asking her all of the time, but as soon he opens his mouth to say something, she acts like nothing is wrong, and he ends up looking like a fucking fish with his mouth gaping, thinking that maybe he was just imagining things with Emma.

 

But he knows he’s not.

 

This morning, she wasn’t in bed when he woke up, and he woke up at seven. You could offer to pay Emma’s rent for a year, and she wouldn’t wake up at seven if she didn’t have to. When he searched her out, she was in the kitchen drinking coffee with Mary Margaret, quietly whispering, making sure not to wake up Liam and David who were still fast asleep a few feet away.

 

So maybe she just wanted some time alone with her best friend. That’s normal.

 

That’s not weird, right?

 

Right.

 

But then in the car, she offered to sit in the back and let David sit in the passenger seat. And he’s not saying that Emma _never_ sits in the back, but he can’t remember the last time that it was the four of them and she didn’t sit with him.

 

But that’s not that weird, right?

 

Right.

 

She’s made conversation with him. She’s smiled, the brilliant, beautiful smile. She’s laughed at his bad jokes. She’s made jokes about his own baseball career when they got to the game. For a few minutes, he felt like everything was normal, and he was definitely being overly sensitive.

 

So he puts his arm around her shoulders, pulling her into his side to kiss the top of her head, like he’s done a million time, and he thinks that today is a good day.

Yet, as soon as his lips touch the crown of her hair, she jumps out of her seat like something has burned her, mumbling something about going to get something to drink.

 

Which, normally, totally normal. She’s always thirsty. Except Killian just got back with her refill not ten minutes ago, and he knows it’s nowhere near empty. He can see it through the clear cup.

 

That _is_ weird, right?

 

Right.

 

Emma returns, but she returns without a drink, so now he has absolutely no doubt that she lied to him earlier. She acts normally for the rest of the game, but he avoids making any kind of physical contact with her, something he hasn’t done since she was dating her last boyfriend, who was a rather jealous prat.

 

When the game ends, the four of them wander out of the stadium, David throwing his arm around his wife’s waist as they walk, and Killian burns with what he knows is want. Want to have a partner like David has. Want for Emma to be that partner.

 

Want to know what the hell is wrong with Emma.

 

Emma walks ahead of him next to Mary Margaret, and he can see the pink on her shoulders from where the sun was beating down on them all day. He knows that his nose must look similar, can feel the prickling of a sunburn despite the baseball cap and sunscreen he’s sported all day.

 

They’ve walked a few blocks from the stadium, streets surprisingly crowded for a Sunday afternoon. Most people in town spend their Saturdays out and their Sundays at home with family, relaxing in order to prepare for the workweek ahead. So when David comes across a little hole in the wall pizza place with no themed decorations – a sure sign that the pizza will be a perfect combination of ingredients – they decide to eat there.

 

Sure enough, when Killian bites into his slice, a classic pepperoni, it’s the perfect blend of dough and cheese and sauce. It’s so good that he almost lets out a moan in appreciation.

 

He doesn’t though.

 

Emma does.

 

And suddenly his jeans aren’t the most comfortable choice of outfit for the day.

 

He looks up at her in her seat across from him at the table and smiles, a soft, genuine thing. He can’t help himself. She’s sitting there, content smile on her face as she hastily scarfs down her slice of pizza. She’s doing a little dance as she eats, and he knows that she’s doing it unconsciously. She’s done that since they were kids. She’ll dance without realizing it, and it thrills him to know that even if she’s perturbed with him for some reason, at least he knows she’s having a pleasant day with her friends.

 

He must stare at her for longer than he intends to because she looks up at him in the middle of chewing, muffling a “what” under the covered hand she put over her mouth.

 

“Nothing, love,” he answers, looking back down at his own plate. “You just look like you’re enjoying your food.”

 

“Sooo good,” she mumbles, taking another bite. Sometimes the table manners fall wayside if she’s got some good junk food in front of her. “So good, David,” she says once she’s actually finished chewing her food. “You did a fantastic job picking this place out.”

 

“I used to come here my freshman year, with some of my buddies, after the intermural basketball games.”

 

“I didn’t know that,” Mary Margaret pipes in, running her hand up and down her husband’s arm. “I’ve never eaten here.”

 

“It was right before you and I started dating. We started going to nicer places, so that I could impress you when you decided to suffer through watching me play basketball.”

 

David places a kiss to Mary Margaret’s cheek, and she tells him that there was no need to try to impress her. She already liked him just fine.

 

It’s cheesy, but it’s cute. And Killian feels that longing of want that he felt on the way over here. He looks to Emma, because of course he does, and she’s no longer dancing in her seat, instead smiling softly at David and Mary Margaret. Her smile is kind, but he can tell that her eyes are glassy. And he just wants to comfort her, to pull her into his arms and let her know that whatever is wrong will be okay.

 

With the sun flitting across the sky and the air cooling down, they all come to the sad realization that it’s time for Mary Margaret and David to drive home. While Emma saw them just a little over a month ago, the last time he saw them was when they drove away from their wedding reception, “just married” written on the back of the town car.

 

He knows he’ll see them again this weekend, so he doesn’t dwell too much on it. Just appreciates the company they’ve given him this weekend. So when it’s time for them to leave he gives David a hug, patting him on the back, and kisses Mary Margaret’s cheek, as she squeezes his bicep in return, ever the nurturer.

 

He loads their bags in the car as Emma says goodbye, and he can see her wrap her arms around David in a tight embrace as he cradles the back of her head, diligently whispering something into her ear. She nods within his embrace, and the next thing he knows, they’re driving away, back to their home.

 

When he turns to ask Emma what she wants to do the rest of the night, she’s already in the middle of telling him that she needs to go home. And before he can even ask why, she’s walking away, heading home too.


	9. Chapter Nine

Killian’s left standing in the parking lot adjacent to his apartment staring at the back of Emma’s blonde hair as she walks away. He thinks about going after her and asking what’s wrong, what he’s done, because it’s not like Emma to keep things from him, especially if those things are about him. Every time she’s even been cross with him, she hasn’t hesitated to tell him. She doesn’t hold anything back, so this scares him. But he doesn’t want to push. Emma needs her space sometimes, and if he pushes her, she’ll push back before slamming the door in his face.

 

Not wanting to risk anything, he heads inside, climbing the stairs and entering his apartment only to find Liam sitting in his briefs on the couch while he eats leftovers from the night before.

 

“Welcome home, little brother,” he greets, shuffling through the channels on the television as he sips on a beer, only stopping when Killian plops down on the couch and takes the bottle out of Liam’s hands, gulping down the remaining alcohol in seconds. “What the hell is up with you?”

 

Killian doesn’t say anything, tilting the bottle back to see if it’s possible that there’s more in it. When there’s not, he gets up to check the fridge, only to find that there’s nothing there. “Bloody hell,” he slams the door shut before, if he’s honest with himself, moping back to the couch and slouching down next to Liam again as his brother stares at him with his lips parted.

 

“I repeat, what the hell is up with you?”

 

“Emma,” Killian mumbles, crossing his arm like a petulant child as he broods over the fact that Emma is very obviously cross with him, and he has no idea why. He should have said to hell with it and just asked her.

 

“What did you do?”

 

“What makes you think I did something?”

 

“Because I very much doubt that you’re pissed with Emma unless she kissed another man in front of you or got back together with that Neal fellow.”

 

“Don’t mention that bastard’s name,” he spits out. “I was rid of him that moment she kicked his sorry ass to the curb.”

 

“So is that what it is?”

 

“I don’t bloody know what it is. She’s just acting distant, and every time I so much as touched her today she’d repel away from me like I was burning her. And then instead of coming up here tonight like she would any other day, she just walks away without so much as saying goodbye.”

 

“Do you really think it’s you she’s cross with?”  


“I mean it’s a possibility?” he shrugs his shoulders, “but I’m not so naïve to think that I’m the only person or thing in her life so it has to be about me. But she was obviously acting odd around me and normal around Mary Margaret and David, so I’d bet that I’m the issue here.”

 

“Well not to state the obvious but have you considered asking her about it?”

 

“Do you even know Emma? Sometimes if you push her she flees like a scared cat.”

 

“Yeah, but she usually flees to you.”

 

Killian throws his head back against the cushions of the couch, squeezing his eyes shut and clenching his jaw.

 

He feels Liam move more than sees him, and before he knows what’s happening, he’s being slapped upside the head. “I know you’re young and everything is still dramatic to you, but nothing about this is as bad as it seems. It’ll all be okay.”

 

He opens one eye to see Liam standing over him, smug smile gracing his lips, and Killian has to hold himself back from doing something childish like sticking his tongue out or kicking Liam’s knees out from under him.

 

Instead he settles on something mature and refined. “Go put on some clothes, you wanker, and we can start looking for a new place to live for when the lease here expires.”

 

“Wouldn’t it be helpful to know if you can find a job here first?”

 

“I promised Emma I’m not leaving the area, so I’m not taking a job unless it’s in the area.”

 

“And you’re sure the two of you aren’t dating and hiding it from the rest of us? Because that sounds very much like a devoted boyfriend to me.”

 

“Just put your pants on.”

 

The next morning Killian is making some scrambled eggs for he and Liam while Liam continues his search for more than a temporary job. He’s adjusted well to life outside of the Navy, but he’s still searching for something he really enjoys doing, as right now he’s just working as a temp.

 

“Hey, you got a text,” Liam announces as Killian sprinkles some pepper onto the eggs.

 

“You can just read it to me.”

 

“Isabelle says to let her know about today. What’s today?”

 

“Ah, nothing,” Killian says, snatching his phone out of Liam’s hand and responding a quick _will do_ to the text message. He tries not to mind the odd look Liam’s giving him before stuffing his phone in his back pocket and shoving a plate of eggs in Liam’s face.

 

Killian’s a bit skittish because he has a job interview today.

 

And not an interview for a part time job. This is not another bar or coffee shop. This is a full-time job at Woodard and Curran, a company he really likes here in Portland, and he’s _nervous_. Stomach in knots, heart pounding, can’t sleep kind of nervous.

 

It’s not his first interview in the last few months, but it’s the first time he’s wanted the job for both the pay and because he likes it. Plus, he hasn’t earned this interview on his own, not really. He’s had help. And though he knows that he deserves it – he’s got the qualifications, the experience, everything they’re looking for – he still used his mum’s connections to get him an interview, and that makes him nervous.

 

Her coworker’s daughter, Isabelle, worked for the company a few years ago, transferring firms after spending five years there as a team manager. She left in good graces with contacts inside who would gladly be willing to do her a favor. So, at his mum’s suggestion, Killian took her to dinner about a week and half ago as part of an informal interview. Isabelle had no influence on his hiring, but if she liked him and thought he would do well at Woodard and Curran, she would give her recommendation to the Human Resources department.

 

So when he got a call last week asking him to come in for an interview, he fist pumped to himself in the middle of his bedroom. Part of him immediately wanted to call Emma, but he didn’t want to jinx anything. Superstitious bastard that he is.

So he’s kept it to himself, not even giving anything away to his mum when she asked about it at his graduation dinner. When Emma told him that she’d been offered a teaching job and accepted it, he wanted to tell her then, share the joy of not being another statistic – recent college grads without jobs – but he held himself back. He doesn’t have the job. So if (hopefully when) he gets it, then he’ll share the news.

 

And it’s because of this that after breakfast he’s pacing his bedroom, back and forth like a pendulum, in a full suit and tie, waiting for Liam to leave to go to work so that he can slip out of the apartment unnoticed.

 

Ten minutes later, when he hears the click of the lock on the front door, he emerges from his room to make sure Liam is walking toward the bus stop from the view out the living room window. Once Liam is out of his view, he grabs his keys and his wallet, and jogs down to his jeep, ready to drive to the interview.

 

He has an overall sense of peace on the drive over, radio playing some of his favorite 80’s songs, but as soon as he pulls into the parking lot, he can feel the anxiety rising within him again, making his heart pump rapidly from where it resides in his chest.

 

_Breathe in._

_Breathe out._

 

Sucking in his breath one more time, he gets out of the jeep and walks into the building, hoping for the best.

 

When he leaves the interview an hour and a half later, he feels good. Not overly optimistic, but good. He could answer their questions, barely stuttering between responses, and he felt like he wasn’t hitting out of his playing field.

 

But he can’t tell anyone where he’s been, keeping to his earlier promise of not saying anything until he _knows_ because he doesn’t want to have to tell people he didn’t get the job if it doesn’t work out, so he sits in his car and thinks it over to himself, trying not to overanalyze anything.

 

He’s still got work at the bar for tonight and tomorrow, picking up some extra shifts before he leaves for the beach house on Wednesday, so he heads straight there from the offices, stripping out of his suit jacket and tie along the way.

 

It’s an unsurprisingly calm night for it to be a Monday after graduation. This is usually a day where he can count on just finishing up homework, watching TV, or chatting with one of the regulars. Sometimes Emma will come and sit with him to keep him company, and at the thought of that, he realizes he hasn’t heard from her at all today. So he pulls his phone out of his back pocket to send her a text.

 

**Killian: Want to come keep me company? It’s dead here today.**

 

He slides his phone back into his jean pocket, figuring she doesn’t always respond promptly, and decides that he’s going to restock the shelves. It’s something that he needed to do before the night was over anyways, and at least it’ll pass the time.

 

Before he knows it, seven o’clock is morphing into eight o’clock, eight o’clock is morphing into nine, customers filtering in and out of the bar, a slow, steady stream of patrons.

 

A quarter past nine he feels his phone vibrate in his back pocket. His boss has been around tonight, so he hasn’t gotten a chance to check it. But she went home, and he’s closing up tonight, so he knows that he’s free to check his phone as he pleases.

 

**Liam: What time are you coming home? Should I leave dinner out? Made some potato soup.**

**Killian: Closing tonight, so I’ll be home around three. You can leave it in the fridge. Thanks, Liam.**

 

He’s just about to close out his phone when he sees the red notification button on his message app didn’t disappear when he texted Liam back. Remembering that he texted Emma earlier, he realizes he must have missed his phone going off when she texted back.

 

**Emma: Can’t tonight! Dinner with Rubes. See you Wednesday?**

 

He’s disappointed that she didn’t offer to come after dinner, she’s closed with him many a time, but he understands. She’s got her own life. If she doesn’t want to or can’t come tonight, it’s no problem. He’s glad she’s spending time with her friends. He just hopes that she isn’t still cross with him from whatever was going on this weekend.

 

**Killian: Aye, love, see you on Wednesday. Hope you had a good time tonight :)**

Not thirty seconds later, she’s texting back.

**Emma: Night, Kil.**

 

Tuesday passes without incident, and before he knows it, it’s Wednesday morning and Killian is throwing his duffle bag into his backseat, telling Liam he’ll see him this weekend, and on his way to pick up Emma, almost positive that she’s fallen back asleep despite texting him that she was awake an hour ago.

 

Sure enough, when he lets himself into her apartment, she’s sprawled out on the couch, right arm dangling onto the ground and left leg lifted up over the back of the couch, fast asleep. She looks, well…she looks ridiculous. But she also looks adorable, so he pulls out his phone to take a quick picture, sure that it’ll be funny to her later when they’re looking back on this weekend and she’s got some coffee in her.

 

He goes to her bedroom to see if she’s at least packed a bag, and to his pleasant surprise, she has. To his unpleasant surprise, she has three bags packed, all sitting neatly on top of her bed.

 

He’s curious as to how the hell she could have packed so much for five days, but if his mum has taught him anything, it’s that gentlemen don’t look in a lady’s bag.

 

So he stifles his curiosity and makes his way back into the living room, trying to decide the best way to wake her up. He decides talking to her softly is his best option, so he squats down next to her and taps her shoulders, speaking to her in a hushed tone.

 

“Emma love,” he starts, shaking her a bit.

 

She twitches in response, but she doesn’t open her eyes, breathing still even.

 

He shakes her a little harder, whispering just that little bit louder. And when her eyes pop open and go wide, like a deer in the headlights, he grins satisfactorily to himself, which, in hindsight, was probably a mistake.

 

“God,” she slaps his chest lightly, “Killian,” _slap_ , “you,” _slap_ , “scared,” _slap_ , “the,” _slap_ , “shit,” _slap_ , “out” _slap_ , “of,” _slap_ , “me.”

 

She hits harder than she thinks she does, girl can pack a punch, and his chest stings slightly from her touch. Not that he would ever admit to that. That would just encourage her.

 

Instead, he backs away from her slowly, hands raised in the air in surrender. “Didn’t mean to frighten you, love.”

 

“Well you still fucking did, Killian.” She’s breathing heavily, chest heaving up and down, and he can see that he really did frighten her.

 

Once she’s calmed herself down, breathing even, he thinks that it may be safe to approach again. But then her eyes go wide again, and she jumps up from her position on the couch, running around like a madwoman.

 

He’s trying not to laugh. He really is, but he can’t help himself. She’s currently jumping up and down on one leg, trying to get a sneaker on while her toothbrush hangs out of her mouth, toothpaste dripping down her chin.

 

“Why are you laughing?” she asks, but he has to decipher her question because she’s mumbling with toothpaste filling her mouth.

 

“Because you look ridiculous.”

 

Before she answers, she walks back to the bathroom and rinses her mouth, so when she returns, she’s still got just the one shoe on, but at least her voice is clear when she speaks. “I fell asleep. Why aren’t you freaking out that we’re going to be late for check-in with the lady who owns the house?”

 

She’s grabbing her other sneaker before he tells her, “I told you we needed to leave an hour before we actually did. Figured you’d either forget to pack or fall asleep.”

 

In response, she levels him with her meanest stare, but he can tell she doesn’t actually mean it. And just as he feels himself lull into a sense of calm, that she’s not going to be angry with him, he sees her pick up her remaining shoe and pelt it at him, smacking him in the stomach.

 

Instead of retaliating like he wants to, he throws it back (with much less force) and gets up to go grab her bags. Why the hell does she have so many bags?

 

“Love, what the hell do you have packed in here? It’s like bricks.”

 

“It’s May in Maine, Killian. The weather goes through several seasons a day. I needed to be prepared.”

 

He’s adjusting the biggest bag over his shoulder, trying to balance the rest on his forearms, and making his way out of her apartment door.

 

When she holds the door open for him, she looks at him and grins, “Plus, I knew that I wouldn’t have to carry a single one of those things with you here.”

 

She closes the door behind him, locking the door quickly before jogging up ahead of him, slapping his ass on her way. She doesn’t turn around to look at his reaction. She doesn’t have to.

 

“Bloody minx.”

 

It’s only about an hour and a half to Boothbay, and it’s a pleasant drive. The sun is out, so Killian lets the top down on his jeep, and Emma’s hair is blowing all over the place. It’s been driving her crazy, he can tell, and every time Killian looks over to his passenger seat, she’s trying to tame her flyaway hairs.

 

She looks happy, like she’s in a much better mood than she has been the last few days. He never did figure out what was bothering her, but it was probably just the emotions of the weekend. She seems fine now, and he’s glad for it, a feeling of contentment settling into his heart.

 

They drive the rest of the way chatting idly, only stopping when a song Emma loves comes on the radio and she feels the need to loudly belt it out, singing off key even though he knows that she has a lovely singing voice. He can’t help but join along, and he’s reminded of the summer when they were seventeen and they went on a road trip to Boston.

 

They had a great time that weekend, young and free of all responsibilities. He hopes that this week will be like that, one last week of carefreeness before the weight of the so-called real world officially settles down upon them.

 

She looks over at him and smiles, a soft little thing that he likes to think she reserves for him, and he thinks to himself, this is going to be better than Boston.

 

When they arrive at the house, the owner, Evelyn, is there waiting for them. She’s an older woman who rents out her house in the summer while she goes to visit her grandchildren in North Carolina. They’re apparently the first group to stay this summer, so she’s stuck around in order to show the two of them the house before she goes.

 

Killian can already feel the salt air sink into his skin, and he’s glad they made the decision to do this. For awhile they considered going somewhere like New York, guaranteed to stay busy in the city that never sleeps, but he thinks that just spending a week by the water, sand following him everywhere he goes, is the perfect vacation.

 

Once Evelyn leaves, he turns to him to ask Emma if she has any preferences for meals this week before they head to the supermarket, but she’s walking around the house, fingers running along the marble counter tops.

 

“You like it, love?” he asks before sitting down on one of the armchairs, pulling out his phone to start making a grocery list.

 

The house is a two-bedroom cottage with direct access to the beach. It’s an open concept with light gray and cream furniture scattered throughout, blue and green accents adding to the soothing feel of the place. But the best part is the floor to ceiling windows looking out the spacious back porch, the view of the ocean right past it. It makes you feel like you’re outside, even in the comfort of the air-conditioning. It’s what really sold Killian on the place, even if it cost a little more than he and Emma were looking for, but he paid the overcharge, and now that he sees it in person, he in no way regrets his choice.

 

“Yeah,” she sighs, making her way over to the large bay windows that look out to the water. “Is this the same house we looked at? Because I don’t remember the furniture looking this nice.”

 

“Evelyn emailed and said she’d been redoing it, but since we’d already put the deposit down, she didn’t charge us the new fee.”

 

“Well damn,” she replied, coming to sit on the couch across from him, propping her feet up on the ottoman, “that’s some luck we’re not used to having. What are we doing today?”

 

He holds up his phone to show her his grocery list. “We’ve got to go the supermarket love, buy some food so you don’t starve,” he says, adding a watermelon to his list. “Think of some meals you want when it’s just us, and then some stuff for when everyone else gets here, though we’ll probably go out to eat at least once or twice this weekend.”

 

The two of them spend the rest of the day peacefully after they’ve run their errands. When they get back from the supermarket and put away their finds, it’s hot enough for them to walk down the grassy path to the beach.

 

Emma is currently standing with her toes in the water, large floppy hat on her head, covering the blonde hair she’s pulled into a braid, and some sort of long white cardigan covering the blue bikini he got a glimpse of earlier.

 

It’s a bloody beautiful sight.

 

Maybe one of the best ones he’s ever seen.

 

She’s happy, but he can tell he was wrong about her being over whatever it is that’s bothering her. She’s got something on her mind so he leaves her be until she’s ready to talk to him, content to just sit in the sand and close his eyes, the sun beating down onto his skin. When she sits beside him a few minutes later, she doesn’t say anything, just shrugs off her cardigan and pulls her book out of the bag she brought with her.

 

When their skin has pinked and they’re the good kind of tired, tired from having the sun shine down on them for hours at a time, they pack up their things and head back inside, passing a few elderly couples along the way.

 

As soon as they get inside, Emma heads to shower while Killian starts on dinner. They had fresh shrimp at the local supermarket they went to earlier, so he’s decided to make shrimp and grits. He’s never made it before, but he remembers eating it as a kid on the rare occasions his mom would take them to the shore.

 

He pulls up Spotify on his phone and puts it on his oldies playlist before he starts preparing dinner. Emma comes out from the bathroom in a gray tank top and some tiny sleep shorts, braiding her wet hair as she walks toward him. She hops on the island next to his phone, and when he gets closer to change the song, he can see that she doesn’t have a bra on, nipples pebbled against the fabric. He has to hold back a groan at the sight and turns around to adjust his pants without her knowing, making his way over to check on the shrimp boiling in the pot.

 

When he does turn around, Emma is holding up her phone, telling him to smile for her Instagram story. Later he’ll see that she’s captioned the video as having “her own personal chef for the week” but right now, the beginnings of the song _Hooked on a Feeling_ are streaming out of the speakers on his phone, and he decides he wants to dance like his mom used to do with he and Liam when they were younger.

 

If anything, he just wants to make Emma smile.

 

After grabbing Emma’s phone out of her hand to place next to his on the counter, he takes both her hands and pulls her off the counter and into his arms. They just sway while the beginning _ooga-chakas_ play, but then he’s twirling her around the kitchen, singing along to the song.

 

_I can’t stop this feeling deep inside of me. Girl, you just don’t realize what you do to me._

 

She’s laughing at him now, trying to pull away. She’s never been one for this type of dancing, but it’s fun like this, dancing with this woman who he loves, who just doesn’t know how deep his feelings run.

 

_When you hold me_ – he pulls her in closer, leading her hands up to his neck – _in your arms so tight. You let me know everything’s all right._

 

They dance to the rest of the song, Killian throwing in some twirls that probably look crazy, but it makes Emma laugh and that’s all he really wanted out of this.

 

Eventually she starts singing along as well, a little more gracefully than he does, and he thinks that he was wrong earlier when he thought that Emma standing at the ocean was the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. Because this here, Emma laughing while dancing in his arms in a kitchen, this is most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

 

_I said I’m hooked on a feeling, and I’m high on believing…that you’re in love with me._

 

They eat dinner in companionable silence before moving to the living room to watch a movie. When Emma starts yawning halfway through Speed, she decides that she’s going to call it a night. Before she goes to her room, she squeezes his bicep and whispers a _goodnight Killian,_ and all he wants to do is give her a kiss goodnight before crawling into bed after her _._

But he can’t do that.

So as he watches the bedroom door close behind her, he thinks that maybe tomorrow will be the day he finally tells her how he feels. Screw the consequences.


	10. Chapter Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I almost split this chapter in two, so you guys are welcome for this.

After waking up at three in the morning with a restless night’s sleep behind her and fruitlessly trying to fall back into a what she hoped to be a deep slumber for hours, she finally gives up at around 5:30, grabbing the knit blanket at the end of her bed and deciding to watch the sunrise. It’s something she’s done maybe once in her life, and it’s not something she normally cares to do, the siren of sleep always calling to her more than the rising sun. But today, today, she’s on vacation. She’s on vacation, and her mind won’t shut up, a constant barrage of words fighting each other for dominance in her mind.

 

So she quietly makes her way out of the house, sliding the glass door open with the blanket trailing on the ground behind her. When she settles on one of the lounge chairs on the deck, there’s a cold nip in the air that only comes from the chill of the ocean in the morning. She tugs the blanket more tightly around her, trying to cling to the warmth that she felt inside the house.

 

It’s not quite time for the sun to rise above the water yet, so she can still see stars sprinkling across the sky. She knows that Killian would love this, and she wants to go wake him so that he can enjoy the view too. But she also knows that Killian is the reason she wasn’t able to sleep, hasn’t been able to sleep for the past few days, so maybe she needs some time away from him, a task difficult to do when it’s just the two of them in a small beach house.

 

Graduation weekend, after Killian’s mom let it slip that he had been seeing someone – _Isabelle_ – she pulled away from him. Yes, some of it was definitely because she felt jealous, like someone was repeatedly stabbing her in the heart really. She’s not above admitting that.

 

It fucking hurt.

 

It still fucking hurts.

 

Every time he touched her or looked at her it was like something was lodged in her throat that she’d never be able to get out.

 

But she also didn’t want to make it seem like she was being too affectionate with him. They’ve never had any issues showing each other how much they care for the other through physical touch, but they’ve run into issues before when they’re dating other people.

 

Her high school boyfriend Neal had _hated_ Killian, and Killian had _loathed_ Neal. It was something that put a strain on her relationship with both of them, and as much as it hurt when Neal broke up with her, she was almost thankful that it was over because it meant she didn’t have to be put in the middle of whatever war they had going on.

 

When they were nineteen, verging on twenty, Killian had just started dating a girl he met in one of his classes named Milah. They didn’t date for very long, but he brought her around Emma enough times for Emma to realize that Milah _hated_ her. Hated her to the point where Emma sometimes felt like she was being burned alive by Milah’s stares.

 

Killian, of course, never noticed any of this. He thought the two of them got on well, and she didn’t want to take away any of his happiness so she never said anything. But every time Killian would kiss her forehead goodnight or wrap his arm around her shoulders while they watched TV, she felt like she was doing something wrong.

 

She knows it’s slightly irrational, but she also knows that none of Killian’s girlfriends have been okay with her because of things like this. Yes, she loves him, as in she’s _in love_ with him, but he doesn’t know that. So as far as he’s concerned, every little piece of physical affection he gives her is completely platonic. And it is. But Milah didn’t see it that way.

 

Killian will never admit to it, admit that they broke up because of her, but she knows. Knows that they got into a screaming match at her twentieth birthday party. Knows that she overheard Milah tell him that she had cheated on him because he wouldn’t cut Emma out of his life. So she knows that she was the cause of all of that.

 

But being the man he is, he’s never blamed her for them breaking up, never even told her why they broke up. He just came back in from where they were arguing in the hallway and pulled her into his side, giving her hair a kiss that lingered a little longer than it should have, and went on with his day like nothing even happened.

 

That night he’d stayed in her apartment and fallen asleep with his head on her stomach as she ran her fingers through his hair, something she imagines mothers do when their child is upset to comfort them. She didn’t know what to do, how to comfort him, when her mind was all over the place. She was glad that Milah was gone because it broke Emma a little bit every time she saw them together, but she also couldn’t believe that she was happy about something that made Killian unhappy. Most of all, even though it shouldn’t have surprised her, she was unable to get over the fact that Killian had chosen her. No one had ever done that before when given another opportunity.

 

So even though she knows Milah wasn’t good for him because she felt that she was justified in cheating on him, because she thought that cheating was okay at all, Emma still feels residual guilt at that relationship ending. He’d liked her a lot.

 

Ever since, when he’s dating, she pulls back. She hates it, and the knife stays lodged in her heart, but she knows it’s for the best. So when she found out about Isabelle, even though Isabelle wasn’t there, she tried to pull back, maybe a little more than usual at the beginning because of the pain she felt at him not telling her.

 

And also because the man she loves is seeing someone else. That’s probably reason number one through ninety-nine, but Emma’s going to ignore that.

 

She can’t truly ignore it.

 

Except yesterday, it’s like she kept forgetting. Things were like they always were between them, happy and carefree.

 

It made her think about just how much she _loves_ him.

 

Yesterday was one of the most peaceful days of her life, and when he pulled her off the kitchen counter to dance last night, singing along to the lyrics of the song, she felt like he might really mean the words, like this is how life is supposed to be.

 

But then she remembered the he was dating someone else, and she needs to pull back, to pull away so that he can be happy even though she constantly feels like she can’t breathe.

 

And that’s how she’s ended up here, wide awake before six in the morning when she could have been comfortably sleeping until ten. But she spent the entire night staring at her ceiling, wondering if her mind would ever be able to shut itself off.

 

It hasn’t so far.

 

After what feels like hours, the sun begins to make its appearance, erasing the stars and painting the ocean in shades of orange and pink. It’s beautiful, and she wonders why she hasn’t done this more in her life. It may be worth it every now and then.

 

Her world has felt like it’s been upside down, but this rights it a little bit. Apparently just not enough. Because the girl who couldn’t sleep in the total darkness of her bedroom falls asleep in the brightness of the sun, ocean waves lulling her into slumber.

 

When she wakes, it’s to Killian shaking her shoulders, gently talking to her. Unlike yesterday, it doesn’t shock her into alertness. Instead, she wakes slowly, taken aback by the brightness of the sun in her eyes.

 

“Good morning, love,” he greets her, smiling softly while he moves her hair off her forehead.

 

“What time is it?” she mumbles, not entirely coherent, pulling her blanket around her shoulders from where it had fallen in her sleep, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes.

 

“Around nine,” he tells her, leaning back in his own lounge chair, still clad in the gray sweatpants and college T-shirt he wore to bed. “Found you sleeping out here around eight but figured I’d let you sleep a little bit longer.”

 

“Thank you,” she tells him, returning his soft smile.

 

“Why were you out here, love?” Bless him. He looks so concerned, and she hates that she can’t tell him the full truth because he’s just too good to her, doesn’t deserve to be weighed down by her feelings.

 

“Couldn’t sleep. Came out here and watched the sunrise. Guess I fell back asleep.” She shrugs her shoulders at him, like it really was as simple as that. Technically, she’s telling the truth. There are just some gaping holes in her explanation.

 

But he seems to pay her no mind.

 

They sit for a little while longer, looking out to the ocean and watching people walk along the shoreline as they talk about their plans for the day.

 

Killian offers to go get them some coffee, and Emma’s eyes light up, craving the taste and caffeine fix she so desires from her restless night. When he stands up to leave, he takes his phone off his lap and places it on the end table between their two chairs.

 

Emma thinks nothing of it until its ringtone goes off, playing whatever preset melody came with the phone. She reaches over to grab it, expecting it to be Liam and figures she’ll just talk with him until Killian comes back with the coffee. Except when she looks down, Liam’s name isn’t on the phone screen. Isabelle Greene’s is.

 

She drops the phone in shock, and her hands are suddenly covered in sweat.

 

“Shit,” she mutters as she leans to pick up the phone from where it landed on the floor, hoping that the screen didn’t crack. Luckily it didn’t, but the damn ring tone is still going off and Emma can’t fucking breathe.

 

She takes a few moments to calm herself, breathing in and out, before she rationally thinks through the fact that she should have taken the phone to Killian in the kitchen, not had a mini panic attack on the deck.

 

When Killian comes back, two coffees in hand, he places hers in between her palms and leans down to give the top of her head a kiss. She physically recoils at the touch, like his lips burned her, and almost spills the coffee, which would have _actually_ burned her.

 

She’s got to get a damn grip on herself. She’s being ridiculous.

 

“Isabelle Greene called while you were inside.” She grits out the words, when she had intended them to be normal, pleasant, like how regular human beings speak.

 

His face lights up in a smile, but it’s so quick before he morphs it back to an emotionless face that if you weren’t looking, you’d miss it.

 

Emma did not miss it.

 

He has a girlfriend (maybe, possibly she’s not 100% sure, they could totally still be at the getting to know each other stage), and he’s trying to hide it from her. Unwanted, unwarranted tears start to pool in her eyes, and she wills them to go away, blinking quickly and hoping that Killian doesn’t notice as he looks at the missed call on his phone.

 

“I’ve got to call her back.” He’s getting up, probably planning on going inside to gain some privacy, but she’s suddenly burning up and needs to go back to the air conditioning and away from the view of others.

 

“No,” she starts placing her hand on his thigh before quickly snatching it away, “I, um, I – I’ll go inside. You can talk out here.”

 

He just nods in affirmation, pressing the call button on his phone before she can even get the sliding door open and make her way back into the house.

 

She feels like her body is burning up and a wave of nausea comes over her that she never could have anticipated. She’s running to the bathroom, chest heaving up and down, and while she’s never had a panic attack before but she thinks this must be what it’s like.

 

She keeps repeating _breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out_ , as she stands over the sink, head down and hands braced on each side of the counter, unsure of what else do to make this all stop. She feels like her heartbeat is coming out of her ears, her entire body pounding.

 

She doesn’t even realize she’s been crying until she lifts her head and sees the tears streaming down her face, her newly tanned skin seemingly translucent in the bathroom lighting.

 

It’s the sight of her looking like a ghost in her own skin that snaps her out of the panic she’s in. She turns on the faucet and starts splashing her face with cold water, trying to wake her skin back up and cool her body down.

 

She has to get a grip. She’s an adult. This isn’t the end of the world. It’s not even what people would consider a problem. There are much worse things out there in the world. She knows. She’s experienced a lot of them herself. But this is how she feels and thinking about how others may have it worse is a shit excuse and doesn’t keep her throat from constricting as a sob threatens to escape.

 

Just splashing her face with water isn’t enough, she decides, so she strips her clothes off and hops in the shower, water ice cold as it hasn’t been given the opportunity to heat up. It feels good as it beats against bare skin, refreshing in the purest way. And she decides that she’s a strong woman, a _badass_ woman, and she can cry in the shower if she wants to. But she’s got to get it together after this.

 

So she lets the tears fall, sobs racking her body, as the saltiness of the tears mixes in with the freshness of the shower water. She absentmindedly washes her hair, roughly scrubbing her shampoo into her scalp.

 

And when she gets out of the shower, she truly does feel refreshed, water dripping off her body and from her hair onto the tile floor. After wrapping herself in a fluffy towel, tying it together at her chest, she brushes her teeth. She no longer looks pale when she sees herself in the mirror, color returned and hair already curling around her forehead.

 

She didn’t think to bring clothes with her into the bathroom, which makes sense because she wasn’t planning on taking a shower to begin with, only focused on getting her breathing to return to normal and the nausea to go away. So as she walks out of the bathroom and back into the living room, she can see that Killian is still talking on the phone, smiling as he runs his free hand through his hair.

 

He looks happy. That’s all she wants him to be, even if it hurts her for a little while – or forever. If he’s happy, she’ll find a way to be happy herself. Hopefully.

 

_Breathe in. Breathe out._

She’s lying to herself if she thinks she could ever be happy watching him with someone else.

 

She goes to her room, digging a pair of leggings and an oversized t-shirt out of her bag, slipping her feet into a pair of socks. She doesn’t want to hole herself in her room, is going to try to make things as normal as possible, so she decides to try to find something to eat in the kitchen.

 

An omelet is about as far as her breakfast making skills go, so she decides she’ll make a couple for she and Killian. Just as she’s grabbing the eggs out of the fridge, she hears the sliding doors open, and Killian comes back into the house.

 

Before she knows it, he’s wrapping his arms around her waist from behind and squeezing her, picking her up from the ground with his embrace.

 

“Somebody’s happy,” she giggles even though she shouldn’t.

 

He turns her around in his arms, bracing his hands on her shoulders as he looks her in the eyes, an intense stare despite the megawatt smile he’s got going on. “I got a job, love.” He whispers the words out, almost like he’s scared of saying them out loud.

 

“You got a job?” She asks the question slowly, like she, too, is scared of saying the words out loud.

 

“I got a job,” he confirms, nodding his head in affirmation. “In Portland. It pays well. I’m a project engineer. I get to work with boats sometimes.” He squeezes her shoulders before moving his hands back to his side. “I got a job, Swan.”

 

Before she knows it, she’s wrapping her arms around his him, hugging his neck. He’s got his arms around her waist, picking her up again. He got a job, and she’s so damn proud of him.

 

“I’m so proud of you, Killian,” she finally voices out loud as he puts her back on the ground. He’s absolutely beaming. “Oh we have to go celebrate tonight. Or tomorrow when everyone gets here.” She’s doesn’t even know how she musters the courage for her next words, but this is what a good friend would do. And she likes to think that she’s a good friend. “You should invite Isabelle to come up.”

 

He gives her the most incredulous look, like he’s confused as to why she would say that. Or maybe how she even knows who Isabelle is. “Well why in the world would I do that, love?”

 

It’s her turn to give him an incredulous look because now she really is confused. “You don’t want your girlfriend to come celebrate with you?”

 

“My girlfriend?”

 

“Yeah,” she gulps, “Isabelle.”

 

Killian starts laughing now. No, cackling. Actually cackling, like the witches in Hocus Pocus. “Why,” he starts, trying to breathe in between laughs, “in the hell do you think that Isabelle is my girlfriend? How do you even really know who that is?”

 

She’s so confused. She doesn’t understand what’s happening right now. She also doesn’t know how to explain herself without sounding like a crazy jealous person. But he’s staring at her, and she knows she can’t just stand there like an idiot.

 

“At graduation or whatever,” she starts off, voice small as she avoids making eye contact, “your mom asked about her, and you said that you’d gone to dinner and that you really liked her. And then she called you this morning, and you just seemed so happy about it. So I guess I made some assumptions that you were dating.”

 

He’s laughing again, and she feels her cheeks go red. She’s embarrassed and confused and doesn’t know what the hell is going on.

 

“I’m sorry,” he laughs out, placing his hand on his chest, and she just wants him to explain. “I’m sorry I’m laughing. It’s just that you’ve gotten the wrong idea, love, and it’s funny to me.”

 

She lets him laugh for a few seconds more, and she feels like she’s just going to go jump into the ocean and never emerge. Who needs to be able to breathe when you’re going to die of embarrassment?

 

“Isabelle,” he starts, making sure that Emma is looking at him as he speaks, “is the daughter of one of my mom’s coworkers. That’s how mom knew her. Isabelle used to work at the company where I just got a job, Woodard and Curran, and she helped me get my interview. I took her to a business dinner so that she could get to know me before she recommended me to her old boss. And she called me just now to let me know that they really liked me and to wish me luck. Then not two seconds later, I got a call from the office to let me know they were officially giving me an offer.”

 

Well, she’s an idiot. A certified idiot. She cannot believe that she’s gotten herself so worked up in her head about this. That she just had a fucking meltdown in the bathroom over nothing. Well, not nothing. Her feelings are real, but there was no need to go on that rollercoaster of emotions. And now there’s a pounding in her right temple from the emotional whiplash.

 

“Why didn’t you tell me you had another job interview?” she finally asks after they stared at each other in silence for a few minutes too long.

 

He runs his hand through his hair, straining his head back so that she can see the long lines of his throat. “Because,” he sighs out, almost in defeat, “I’d already been rejected from so many places. I didn’t want you or anyone else to think that I was a failure again.”

 

“Hey,” she says, reaching up to put her hand on his cheek, “I have never and will never think you’re a failure, Killian. You can do anything you set your mind to.” He’s not looking her in the eyes, so she takes her other hand to move his head to face her. “Got it?”

 

His face has a bashful smile on it now, cheeks pinking. “Aye,” he confirms finally, nodding his head, scruff rubbing against the skin of her palms before he places a kiss there.

 

“Alright then,” she says, moving her hands away from his face, ignoring all those emotions twirling around inside her head. “Let me finish making breakfast as the first step in our celebration as the two of us being gainfully employed.”

 

“I think if you really want me to be able to celebrate later, you should let me make breakfast. Don’t want to be dying from your food.”

 

He’s got the cheekiest look on his face, the bastard, and she wants to kiss it away.

 

Woah, down girl. Not the time.

 

“I can make breakfast,” she says instead, placing her hands on her hips in indignation before turning around to start cracking open some eggs.

 

“Sure you can, love,” he agrees, even as he’s taking the egg from her hand and moving her to the barstools on the other side of the island.

 

Killian ends up making omelets that put anything she would have made to shame, despite her self-proclaimed omelet skills. They do spend the day celebrating his new job, spending hours on the beach baking in the sun before renting bikes to ride around town. When they come across a diner similar to the one at home, she treats them to dinner, a not-so-healthy meal of burgers and fries. And if she gets herself a milkshake as they walk out, maybe the calories don’t count today.

 

Later that night, they’re on the couch watching a movie. Killian’s got his arm wrapped around her waist, hand inching up underneath her t-shirt to touch the bare skin of her stomach, tracing nonsensical patterns across her skin. It’s something they’ve done a million and one times, and she expects that this night will go just like all the others.

 

“Swan?”

 

“Hmm,” she murmurs back, his touch lulling her into a sleepy state.

 

“You thought I was dating Isabelle.” She doesn’t really know how to respond to that. He knows that she did. They’ve already talked about it. But he soldiers on, almost as if he’s just talking to himself. “You thought I was dating Isabelle. That’s why you’ve pulled back these last few days. That’s why you’ve been avoiding me as much as you can.”

 

“I haven’t been avoiding you,” she finally says, looking up at him to see that he’s still staring straight ahead at the TV.

 

“No,” he starts, voice firm in conviction, “you have. You think I don’t notice that you pull back when I start seeing someone.”

 

“Killian I – ”

 

“You shrink yourself into a shell of yourself,” he continues, not letting her speak. “You’ve done it for years. You think that the girls I’m seeing don’t like how affectionate I am with you, so you pull back, thinking that if they’re not jealous of our friendship, I can be happy with them.”

 

She doesn’t know what to say, how to respond. She can’t believe he’s noticed that she does this. She also can’t believe that she was naïve enough to think that she could pull off doing that without him noticing.

 

They’re both silent for a moment before he speaks again, his fingers still running across her skin. “You, Emma, you’re the most important person in my life. No other woman could ever get in the way. You come first. Always have. Always will.”

 

Killian,” she sighs, turning her head away from him to stare straight ahead at the TV too. “You don’t have to do that. I get it. I want you to be happy.”

 

His fingers finally stop tracing patterns against her stomach, and she can feel his stare drilling into the side of her head. “I’m going to say something, love,” he starts, voice deep and low, but firm, “and it might not be what you want to hear, but I can’t live anymore without saying this to you.”

 

Forget every other time today she’s thought her heart was going to beat out of her chest. This time, this time it actually is.

 

“Emma, look at me.”

 

She doesn’t want to, doesn’t know what he’s going to tell her. And he’s so serious that she’s terrified. But he’s her best friend, and she can look him in the eye.

 

“I have feelings for you, Emma,” he confesses, never breaking eye contact with her. “Strong feelings that I don’t even know how to describe. And I’d like to say they’re a new thing, that I told you as soon as I knew, but that would be a lie. I’ve felt this way since a fierce little girl with a blonde ponytail and the most beautiful green eyes I’d ever seen came up to me at the Y and complained that this ‘place is just for babies.’”

 

She laughs at the memory, and a slight smile twitches on his face, as this is the first sign of movement she’s shown since the words _I have feeling for you, Emma_ came out of his mouth.

 

“And I might be mucking twelve years of friendship up, but I believe that you and I are stronger than that. That if you don’t feel the same way, as I suspect you don’t, that we’ll make it past this. Because even if I want more with you, _to be with you_ , if that’s not what you want, then having you be comfortable and happy is all I want in life.”

 

She’s…overwhelmed? She doesn’t even know what to think. She’s just learned that her best friend in the entire world, the man she’s loved for as long as she can remember, wants to be with her. _He wants to be with her_. It’s everything she’s every wanted, and she can’t quite believe that this is happening.

 

Killian’s face goes from his eyes being wide, soft closed lipped smile, a hopeful look if she’s ever seen one, to a look of disappointment, quickly transformed into emotionless.

 

It’s then that she realizes that she hasn’t spoken, and he’s got to think that she doesn’t feel the same way.

 

“Killian,” she whispers, not meaning to, but she doesn’t know how else to get the words out. “I have feelings for you, too. Feelings so deep that I would say that I love you. That I’m in love with you. Have been for a long time.”

 

Now, there’s no emotionless expression on his face. His eyes are bright, crinkling at the sides from where his smile is so wide that it takes up his entire face. “Bloody hell, Emma,” he smiles, placing his hands on either side of her face, “I love you. So damn much it’s insane.”

 

He’s leaning in toward her, and she thinks that finally, finally, _finally_ , after all these years he’s going to kiss her, but he stops right before his lips can brush hers and she almost ruins the moment by groaning in frustration by the lack of contact.

 

“Can I kiss you, love?”

 

And instead of groaning, she laughs, laughs at how ridiculous this wonderful man is. “I just told you that I loved you, and you’re asking if you can kiss me?”

 

“Aye,” he confirms, searching her eyes for confirmation.

 

“You’re an idiot,” she says, pulling his lips to hers, not waiting for him any longer.

 

She can feel his smile against her lips, and she knows that he must feel her smile against his. It’s just a short little thing, tentative brush of lips against lips.

 

When he pulls back, his smile is still there, but soon he’s diving back in, this time moving against her more slowly, passionately. She thinks it’s the best kiss she’s ever had, and then he runs his tongue against her bottom lip, asking for entry, which she gladly grants. Then it’s a dance of tongues, and Emma feels it all the way down to her toes.

 

Eventually, they both pull back, breath heavy and lips kiss swollen while their foreheads rest against each other.

 

Instead of moving further like she so desperately wishes, he reclines back on the couch, pulling her to his side and kissing her temple. They stay like that for the rest of night, exchanging leisurely kisses as they explore this new side of their relationship.

 

And as Emma is nodding off, still cradled in Killian’s arms, she hears him whisper _I love you, Emma_ into her hair and she can’t help but smile.


	11. Chapter Eleven

The first thing Killian notices when he wakes up is that his neck is stiff from the way he slept on the couch, head reclined over the top at an unnatural angle. But it’s all worth it when he manages to stretch out his neck so that he can look at the woman snuggled up to his side, long legs intertwined with his and mouth wide open as she drools onto his t-shirt from where she’s wrapped around his chest.

 

If he’s honest with himself, it’s kind of disgusting, but it’s also the woman he loves drooling on him so she gets a free pass.

 

God, the woman he loves.

 

And who loves him right back.

 

Bloody hell.

 

He must look like an idiot right now, smiling to himself in the dark of the living room, but he still doesn’t quite believe that last night happened. He can’t believe he had the guts to confess his feelings for Emma, and he especially can’t believe that not only did she share his initial admission of feelings, but that she took it a step further and told him she loved him.

 

_She loves him._

 

He wanted to talk to her about how he felt earlier that morning – he’s wanted to talk to her about how he felt a million times before – when he realized she was jealous, thinking that he was dating someone else. He wanted to assure her that there was no need to be jealous.

 

But he also didn’t want jealousy to be the reason they finally had the conversation he’s been longing to have for half of his life. It deserved more than that. He cannot count the amount of times he thought about boldly confessing his love because his heart was pumping jealousy through his veins as he watched her with another man.

 

He knows how he felt watching her with her boyfriends and dates, the irritation doused by the dark clouds of despair (he may be a tad bit dramatic), and now he knows that she had experienced the same things with him. It’s fucked up, the way they’ve managed to dance around each other while still listening to the same song. It’s like they kept missing the next step, Emma turning left while he turned right until they were eventually at different sides of the ballroom, only to be reunited when their lives spun out of control and back into each other.

 

He can’t imagine what would have happened had the two of them never had that talk. He can’t imagine what would happen if the two of them had that talk and one of them decided it wasn’t what they wanted. He doesn’t even want to imagine that.

 

He didn’t bring it up yesterday morning when he’d told Emma who Isabelle was and had seen her entire body basically sigh in relief because he knows that would have been wrong. Satisfying, but wrong.

 

If they were to have a conversation, to figure out if they wanted to take their friendship to another level, it wouldn’t be because of jealousy, because of them being selfish and not wanting the other person to have someone who cares about them.

 

It would be because they wanted to be honest with each other, no outlying, motivating factors besides simply no longer being able to hold back their feelings.

 

So Killian decided to wait, to not broach the subject yesterday morning. To wait until they were both clear of any sort of feeling of jealousy, to wait until they both had clear minds and were able to have a truthful conversation.

 

He was willing to wait as long as it took, but then they have this day together, this wonderful, perfect day. And he _savored_ it. Savored the way the sunlight hit her hair while they sat on the sand at the beach. Savored the way the blue of the ocean brought out the green in her eyes. Savored the way she rode the bike down the city streets, remembering when he taught her how for weeks when they were sixteen. Savored the way her laugh sounded when he told a joke. Savored the way she spoke when she was excited about something. Savored the way she felt leaning up against him as they watched a movie on the couch.

 

He savored it all.

 

But then he thought that he couldn’t wait anymore, that Emma deserved to know how he felt. To know that he loves her in the purest way. No ulterior motives, just that he wanted for her to know how very much she was loved.

 

So he took several breaths, subtle so she wouldn’t notice that he was working up to something, and then he spoke, words spilling from his mouth like they had been trapped and were finally set free, able to flow out unfiltered.

 

And when she spoke those words back, well, yesterday may have been the best day of his life.

 

“Oh gross,” Emma murmurs, waking him out of his thoughts as she wakes up from her slumber. He looks down at her only to see that she is staring at the drool spot on his t-shirt, and he chuckles softly at her.

 

When he laughs, her head shoots up to look at him, still pale skin (even if Emma thinks she has a tan) going red as she realizes that he is awake. She looks so incredibly adorable, skin red and hair rumpled that he just has to kiss her in that moment.

 

But when he leans down to press his lips against hers, she moves away, almost like she was shocked.

 

So not the best way to start off the morning after last night.

 

Fuck.

 

“You do not want to kiss me right now.” She says it so seriously, but he’s glad she’s not saying _do not kiss me ever again,_ and he pulls her back into his side.

 

“I’m pretty sure I do, love.”

 

“Killian,” she pleads even as she settles back into him, “I haven’t brushed my teeth, and I spent all night drooling on you. I’m gross.”

 

“I don’t bloody care.” And then he’s kissing her, a soft little thing that’s slower than anything from last night. She sighs into it and runs her nails against the skin at the nape of his neck, brushing through his hair softly, and this is how he’d like to start every morning.

 

“Good morning,” she says when she pulls back, dopey smile on her face.

 

“Good morning,” he returns as he greets her lips with a quick peck, hand settling at the skin over her lower back under her t-shirt.

 

“I’m going to take a shower.”

 

She says it, but she doesn’t move from her spot.

 

Braving the unsure waters of this new territory and deciding to go for it, he asks, “do you want me to join you?”

 

She rolls her eyes at him as he wiggles his eyebrows, probably their signature moves. “Slow your roll Casanova.” She’s pulling herself from his arms, standing up from the couch to go grab some clothes from her bedroom. “I’m going to take a shower _alone_ , and if you really do love me like you so claimed, you’ll make me some pancakes while I’m in there. And then maybe, _maybe_ later, I’ll make it worth your while.”

 

He doesn’t move, doesn’t get up from the couch to go start breakfast like she probably expected. “Eh, I’ll think about it. Not sure if it’s worth it.”

 

She sticks her tongue out at him, and he can’t help but laugh at her. It’s nice to see that even if these changes have only happened in the past few hours, their friendship is still the same.

 

“Hey, Swan.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“I love you.”

 

“I love you, too.”

 

Eventually he does make her pancakes, blueberries added in, and she gives his cheek a kiss as she grabs herself a plate. They’ve only got a couple of hours left with just the two of them before their friends arrive for the weekend, so they spend it preparing for the arrivals – cleaning and making sure everything is stocked – and then spending a few hours back out on the beach. The weather has been perfect the last few days, but a storm is supposed to roll in Saturday night so they’re going to appreciate it while they can.

 

Except they don’t make it at the beach long, the way the material of Emma’s swimsuit is clinging to her curves in ways that he’s always appreciated but always from afar. Now though, now he might be able to do something about it, and that sends a rush of blood straight through him.

 

So he not so subtly checks to see if there’s anyone near them on the beach before getting up only to hover his body over Emma’s on her towel, supporting himself on his forearms and knees.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

“Kissing you.”

 

“You seem to just be hovering above me and not doing a lot of kissing.”

 

“I’m admiring the view.”

 

“Have you always been this corny?”

 

He doesn’t respond, instead dipping his head down so that his lips can slant over hers, so soft and full and everything he’s honestly, legitimately dreamed about for years. But this isn’t a dream. It’s real. Emma is very real.

  
Eventually he moves from her lips to her jaw, tasting the salty skin there before moving down her neck.

 

“Killian,” she giggles out, trying to move away from him, as he sucks the beginnings of a bruise into her neck, finally – _finally_ – marking her as his. “Killian.” This time it’s more stern, but it’s masked by the gasp she lets out when he runs his tongue along her neck, soothing his teeth marks. “You can’t leave a mark there.”

 

He stops his ministrations, looking up at her with one eyebrow raised. “Why the hell not?”

 

“Because,” she drawls out, pushing her hips up to adjust herself, unintentionally pushing herself into him and _bloody hell_ , “everyone will be able to see it. It has to be somewhere that won’t show when I have a bikini on.”

 

He wants to take his time with her, to enjoy this newfound part of them, but want shoots straight through him and he doesn’t know how much longer he can be a gentleman. “That doesn’t leave me many options, now does it love?”

 

But before she can respond, he’s kissing his way down her throat, over her collarbones, down her sternum, a path of hot, wet kisses, until he reaches the freckle on the side of her right breast.

 

He lifts his eyebrow to silently confirm that this spot is okay, she’s nodding her head yes, her breath escaping her when his lips makes contact with her skin again.

 

This time when he feels her hips cant up to his, the friction indescribably good, he knows that it’s on purpose, that she’s trying to get some friction, and the groan he breathes out against her chest has to be heard by the entire beach.

 

“Killian,” she whispers, “do you want to go inside?”

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“That I want to go inside, yeah?”

 

He pecks her lips before jumping off of her and picking up their towels, a faster speed than any man has ever cleaned up his spot on a beach, and Emma takes her sweet time, meticulously folding her towel and shaking the sand out of all of her belongings. He has literally never seen her move so slowly.

 

“Swan, what the hell are you doing?”

 

“I’m taking my time with you.”

 

“You’re a bloody minx, you know that?”

 

She just turns to smile at him before slinging her bag over her shoulder and walking up to the grassy path that leads back to the house. He has to jog to catch up with her, patting her ass before wrapping his arm around her shoulders and walking back with her, side by side.

 

When they get back to the house, he doesn’t want to be presumptuous, not with Emma, but she drops her bags and wraps her arms around his neck to kiss him, almost immediately running her tongue at the seam of his lips. He willingly grants her entrance, and she makes this little whimper that will most definitely be forever carved into his brain.

 

“Do you want to?”

 

“You have no idea, my love.”  


“Good.”

 

Their first time together is slow, but it isn’t quiet, not just the sounds of skin slapping together as Killian pushes into Emma and pulls out but also the sounds of laughter as Emma hits her head against the headboard or when Killian attempts to be seductive only for Emma to burst into laughter and for that laughter to turn into moans quickly enough. He’s waited for Emma for a long time, even if he didn’t always know what he was waiting for, and he always knew that it would be worth it.

 

She’s worth it.

 

“We were stupid for a long time, you know that?” Emma questions as she runs her fingers through the hair at his chest, her legs tangled over his.

 

“It could have been longer.”

 

“But it wasn’t.”

 

He kisses her temple. “True.”

 

“Our friends are going to freak out, you know that right?”

 

“Liam’s going to be an asshole about it.”

 

“He’s older, wiser, probably thinks he knows all.”

 

She laughs before propping herself up on her elbows on his chest. “How should we tell them?”

 

“I think a repeat of what we just did while everyone is in the house should be efficient enough.”

 

“Absolutely not,” she protests even with laughter on her lips. “I think we do it after this weekend.”

 

“Why not when they all get here?”

 

“Because as much as I want this weekend to be about us, I think we should just have a good time with our friends without everyone interrogating us because you know they will.”

 

“Ruby will probably ask for a play by play of our more _enjoyable_ activities.”

 

“Mary Margaret will want to plan our wedding.”

 

“Are you proposing, Swan? I’m flattered.”

 

“No,” she laughs before she leans down to kiss his shoulder. “I’m just preparing you for what this is going to be like.” She moves her hand across the mattress until she finds her phone, checking something on it before putting it on the bedside table. “We still have time if you want to go another round.”

 

“It’s like you read my mind, darling.”

 

Killian moves the covers they’re under over so that he can maneuver himself on top of Emma, kissing down her chest as she arches into her. He’s just about to slide into her when he looks down at Emma to see her green eyes blown wide in surprise and not in desire.

 

“Your arse cheeks are especially white, little brother.”


	12. Chapter Twelve

Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuck.

 

This isn’t happening. This isn’t real. Her…is he her boyfriend? Now’s really not the time to think about that. Killian’s brother, who is basically Emma’s quasi brother even though thinking about that right at this particular moment makes it kind of weird, just walked into the bedroom where Killian had mostly definitely just partially entered her, both of them naked as the day they were born as they lay tangled together.

 

Killian hasn’t moved, his body still covering hers as he stares down at her, blue eyes formally blown black instead blown wide in surprise while his lips are parted in surprise or shock or something along those lines.

 

“Killian,” she whispers, trying not to freak out at what has to be the most mortifying moment of her life, “cover your ass _and_ me with a blanket and tell your brother to get the hell out of here.”

 

He seems to come back to his senses, pulling the comforter over the two of them like she said before turning his head and surprisingly calmly saying, “Liam, get the hell out.”

 

Liam fucking smirks at them before winking and closing the door, and as soon as she hears that door click, she pushes Killian off of her, flips over, and buries her face in the mattress, mumbling to herself at how awful this is. She fucking finally starts having sex with Killian, and Liam walks in before they even really get to know each other past that first time. At least he didn’t show up then. She might have combusted or melted or something else dramatic.

 

“Swan, I’m so sorry. I – I don’t even know what to say. That…that shouldn’t have happened, and I can’t even begin to imagine how you feel.”

 

“We’re never having sex again.”

 

“What?”

 

She turns to her side so that she can look at him, and they should really put clothes on or something. That seems like the rational thing to do, but she’s not the most rational person right now.

 

“We’re,” she motions her finger between the two of them, “never having sex again.”

 

He looks like she just told him she hated puppies…or maybe that he’s never having sex again. That could explain the way his brows are furrowed and his lips are downturned. Is he fucking pouting? He’s fucking pouting.   
  


“No, I heard that. I was just hoping that I heard it wrong.”

 

“You didn’t. I hope that one time was good enough to last you for the rest of your life, buddy, because it’s never happening again.”  
  


She doesn’t care if she’s being ridiculous. They didn’t even get a full day to just enjoy this, to enjoy each other after waiting for years. Literal, actual years.

 

“Uhhh,” she moans before flipping back onto her stomach and burying her face back into the pillow. She can feel Killian rubbing her back, small circles that are relaxing her even if her mind is going a mile a minute.

 

“Darling,” Killian, his tone soft, encourages while still rubbing her back, “he didn’t see anything. He basically only saw my arse. It’s Liam. He’s not going to be some creepy guy about this. He’ll make a joke or two and then probably fall down on his knees and rejoice that we finally did this. He’s been listening to me moon over you for years.”

 

She opens one eye to look at him and the slight smile on his face. Logically, she knew this. He told her yesterday, but it’s still sweet to hear.

 

“You mooned over me? For years?”

 

She feels a smile creep onto her face even if she’s still embarrassed.

 

“Emma, you have no idea. I was…am so hopelessly in love with you that I took any chance just to be near you, and it was both a wonderful and torturous experience of which I’ve savored every minute.”

 

“I love you,” she sighs, turning so that she can fully look over at him, running her fingers over his jaw. “I can’t believe I get to say that, and I totally want to hear all about how you’ve been pining for me like Luke pined for Lorelai.”

 

“I was probably even worse.”

 

She leans over to kiss his chest before crawling out of bed and getting dressed, putting on her pajamas because they’re warm and comfortable and she needs that right now. Killian does the same, kissing her cheek before they both walk outside the room to see Liam very awkwardly sitting on the couch fiddling with his fingers and looking the slightest bit guilty. Good. He should feel guilty.

 

“Birdie,” he addresses her, looking up at with eyes so similar to Killian’s that she melts a bit no matter how upset she is, “I’m so sorry. I got here early and literally did not expect the two of you to be, uh, to be fucking basically. So I didn’t think anything of it when I opened the door and then saw my brother’s great white arse and the words just slipped from my mouth.”

 

“You could have closed the door and walked away.”

 

“If I’m honest, I was in a tad bit of shock.”

 

“Yeah,” Emma snarls, and she’s really not that mad at Liam. She’s just embarrassed. “Well, imagine how I felt. How Killian felt.”

 

“To be honest, I was feeling pretty good at the time.”

  
She looks up to see Killian’s eyebrow raised as his chest moves with his laughter, and he’s a cheeky bastard.

 

“I’m sorry,” Liam apologizes, reaching up to scratch behind his ear in the same way that his brother does. That Jones brothers’ trait. “I don’t – I don’t know what to say, but bloody hell you two fucked. Are you together? How long as it been? How did it happen?”

 

“Brother, if you wanted to know all the details, you should have just stayed in the bedroom awhile longer.”

 

“Hey,” Emma scolds, slapping Killian’s chest before doing the same to Liam, both of them laughing at her for her reaction until she pushes up on her tiptoes to whisper into Killian’s ear, “remember that thing I said about you never having sex again?”

 

Killian’s laughter dies down at that, and she does a little victory dance before kissing underneath his ear and heading to the kitchen.

 

“Liam, go ahead and ask Killian for all of the gossipy details you want, and then feel free to tell everyone else when they get here because I don’t want to go through this twice. So you’re it, bud.”

 

She lets Liam and Killian talk for awhile while she gets something to eat, heading out onto the deck so that they can have some privacy while she watches the water crash into the shore and the sea grass sway in the wind. Eventually, she hears the sliding glass door open and expects Killian to be the one to come out to greet her, but it’s the other Jones who comes to sit down next to her on the bench, wrapping his arm around her shoulder and pulling her to him so that he can kiss her temple. She closes her eyes at the feeling of it, leaning her head against his shoulder, and while she’s never had a brother, she’s lucked out having David and Liam.

 

“Where’s Killian?”

 

“He’s taking a shower. Are you cross with me, Birdie?”

 

“No,” she sighs. There’s a family playing volleyball down the beach, and the dad just smashed the ball into his son’s face. “I’m not mad at you. I was, still am, embarrassed. You can understand that, right? This whole thing is so new, like, less than twenty four hours new, and my…uh, Killian’s brother, you know, _you_ walked in on us about to have sex.”

 

“Think about what a story it’ll be to tell later on, though.”

 

A laugh passes through Emma’s lips before she turns on her side and wraps her arms around Liam. He’s so much stockier than Killian is, wide where Killian is lean, but she loves Liam Jones, too. Just not in the same way she loves Killian Jones, obviously. Liam can be her cuddly teddy bear when she and Killian are sure to get into a fight.

 

“You know, Birdie,” Liam soothes while he runs his hands up and down her back, “that boy in there has to be the happiest he’s ever been right now. He was telling me all about the past few days, his job and his…you. He couldn’t stop smiling. He’s been waiting on you for a long time. I don’t know why the two of you have to be so stubborn.”

 

“It’s in our blood, obviously.”

 

Liam laughs and pinches her side. He and Killian are so alike that it’s easy to forget Liam is eight years older than them and basically grew up in a different house than Killian. “Just don’t freak out and run on him if you get to thinking about what might happen if you two break up, okay? I know you, and I know him. You won’t. And if you did, the damn man would chase after you into the depths of the ocean if he had to.”

 

Emma sighs and snuggles further into Liam. “If I can handle you seeing us have sex and still be out here talking to you, I think I’ll be okay. I love him, you know?”

 

“I do.”

 

The two of them lay in silence for a little while longer, watching as people filter out onto the beach before going back inside as the dark clouds of the storm start to roll in earlier than expected, threatening to coat the sand and them with rain water if they don’t head inside soon.

 

The sound of the glass door sliding open causes Emma and Liam to lift their heads and look over to see Killian popping his head out, his hair still wet from his shower. “Everybody else is here if you want two want to come inside.”

 

“We’ll be right there.”

 

Killian raises his eyebrow, questioning if she’s okay, and she nods her head before climbing out of Liam’s embrace and heading inside, hugging Mary Margaret, David, and Ruby before helping them put all of their stuff away, Killian and Liam following closely behind with bags over their shoulders.

 

It’s late enough for dinner and with the sky dark from the storm, they decide to order in, calling for Mexican and snuggling up on the couches in the living room, running Netflix on the television after everyone finally agrees on Jessica Jones. They’re all stuffed with queso and tortilla chips, probably not the best idea they’ve ever had, and Emma can see Killian drifting off to sleep in his spot across from her.

 

They haven’t talked about how they’re going to tell everyone, the joke about Liam telling everyone notwithstanding. But she doesn’t want to do this not telling everyone thing for much longer since Liam already knows, so she moves Ruby’s legs off of her lap and strides over to Killian’s recliner and straddles his lap.

 

He’s wide awake now, his blue eyes staring up at her, and she can feel the eyes of everyone else as they watch her. “Love,” Killian whispers as quietly as possible so that no one can hear him but her, “what are you doing?”

 

“Kissing you.”

 

He nods his head before she cups his face and fuses her lips to his, Killian immediately tilting his head to the side and falling into rhythm as their lips move together, Killian biting at her bottom lip as she pulls back.

 

“Are they staring?” she mumbles against his lips.

 

“I think Ruby and Mary Margaret are about to have strokes while David has his mouth open.”

 

“Good.” She pecks his lips before turning in his lap to see that Killian’s description was accurate. He left out Liam’s smug look, but other than that, he hit the nail on the head.

 

“Holy fuck,” Ruby screeches, her eyes widening and closing as she begins processing things, “Emma and Killian just kissed. They _fucking kissed_. What the hell is happening?”

 

“I mean, they fucked earlier, so this is really no big deal in comparison.”

 

Ruby literally falls back against the couch before throwing all of her pillows at Liam like some kind of crazed maniac. Meanwhile Mary Margaret and David still seem to be in a daze until everyone starts talking at once while Emma and Killian sit quietly in the corner.

 

“What do you mean they fucked?”

 

“I don’t need to know that.”

 

“Oh, this is so romantic. It’s finally happening.”

 

“How do you know they did it?”

 

“How long has this been happening?”

 

“It’s a goddamn miracle.”

 

“If we slipped out of the room,” Killian whispers against her ear before kissing her temple and squeezing her thigh, “do you think they’d notice?”

 

“You bet your ass we’d notice, Killian Jones,” Ruby sterns, stopping her assault on Liam to come and stand in front of the two of them with her hands on her hips like they’re teenagers getting scolded by their parents. “I need information.”

 

“Listen,” Emma begins, holding her hands up like she’s trying to shield herself from an assault, “Killian and I are together now, right?” She turns to look at Killian, and he nods his head up and down. “For, like, twenty four hours basically, so it’s all very new. All questions and comments can be directed toward Liam.”

 

“Why the hell would we ask Liam?”

 

“It’s a long story, lass.”

 

“I’ve got time.”

 

So the six of them dissolve into the story of Emma and Killian, David far less interested than Ruby and Mary Margaret. There are a lot of questions, and while Emma has never been this inquisitive about her friends’ relationships, she does understand the curiosity. She’s just not going to put up with it forever. There’s only so much that you can take, especially with Ruby in the room.

 

“So how was the sex, Ems?” Ruby questions with this salacious smile on her face, almost predatory really, moving her hands out legitimately asking how big Killian’s dick is. 

 

“Okay,” Killian announces, clapping his hands together over Emma’s stomach, “that’s enough. No questions about my sex life. No questions about Emma’s sex life. No questions about our sex life together. I love all of you, but no one gets to know any of that.”

 

“So your dick is pretty small then,” Ruby jokes, but Killian does not find it funny, his grip on her stomach tightening.

 

“Ruby,” Emma chastises while patting Killian’s hands on her stomach, his skin hot to the touch, “why don’t you tell us about your date with Dorothy? Is she going to come up here this weekend?”

 

“Oh, it was wonderful,” Ruby sighs, crashing back into the couch as a bout of thunder crashes outside, “but I don’t think I’m quite ready for her to spend an entire weekend away with me. Plus, then poor Liam over here would be the seventh wheel.”

 

“A seventh wheel with a bunch of twenty-two year olds. I’m living the dream.”

 

“What about that girl?” Killian inquires while his thumbs run back and forth over Emma’s stomach, lulling her to a sleepy state. “The one you’ve been on a few dates with.”

 

“Eh,” Liam scratches behind his ear, “it didn’t work out, but it was for the best.”

 

As the night rolls on, the storm outside increases in intensity, the rain pelting the ground and the wind hitting against the glass back of the house, lightening flashing and making the tumbling waves visible outside. Out of nowhere, the power goes out, the place suddenly shrouded in darkness and everyone has to get out their phones until David locates portable lanterns and some candles, lighting up the room as much as they can.

 

“So what do we do now?” Mary Margaret questions while they settle back down in the living room.

 

“I called the owner.” Killian’s playing with the tips of her hair, and she doesn’t even think that he knows that he’s doing that. Every single one of his touches is setting her on fire, and all she really wants to do is take him back to their room and have her way with him even if she knows they can’t, not with everyone here, and especially not with the way Killian got irritated with everyone asking questions earlier. “She says it’s a neighborhood wide thing and will be back on once the storm blows through.”

 

“Do we have any cards?”

 

“Evelyn said there are board games in the TV cabinet.” Emma gets up from the couch, taking a lantern with her to look at the games only to find that the only thing under this is a game of Monopoly, and Monopoly is literally the devil’s game. “I’m not about to play monopoly, but if everyone else wants to, feel free. I’m going to get a beer before they start to get warm.”

 

“Will you get me one, darling?” Killian requests, grabbing her wrist as she walks past him, his teeth showing in the way he’s smiling up at her. She runs her hands through the top of his hair, fixing all of the haphazard strands before someone pointedly coughs.

 

“Will you get me one, too, sweetie pie?”

 

“Of course, David,” Emma coos, “or, I mean, honey bunches.”

 

David laughs and Mary Margaret protests Emma using her pet name for David, and Killian just grabs her hand and brings it to his lips, pressing them against her knuckles, and she feels that all the way down to her toes. She ends up grabbing all of the beer they have, plus the bottle of whiskey and the cheap rum, not daring to get Killian’s good stuff, and before she knows it every single one of them is verging on drunk and wow are these hangovers going to suck in the morning.

 

Inebriated Killian is extra affection Killian, his hands running all across her skin, inching up beneath her shirt and tracing up her torso until he gets to the underside of her boobs, and if she didn’t have the mind to grab his wrists and stop him, she knows that he would have started toying with her nipples right then and there.

 

“Killian,” she mumbles before turning to face him and seeing his smirk even with the only lights near them coming from some of the candles, “you’ve got to stop.”

 

“Why?” he whispers against her ear before biting down on the lobe, a small whimper emanating from Emma that she tries to keep everyone from hearing by throwing her hands over her mouth. “I’ve got lots of skin to explore. We were a bit hurried that first time.”

 

Her entire skin is tingling, desire rushing to her belly, but they seriously can’t do anything right now. Killian is drunk, and there’s too many people in the small house for them to be quiet enough and even if they could put on music on their phones, she’s not comfortable knowing that everyone is in the next room, especially after this morning.

 

“You’re drunk, and we’re not alone.”

 

Killian groans before throwing his head back against the chair, his hands moving from her breasts to rest on her waist, but he doesn’t bother to take his skin off of hers, only moving to a more appropriate area.

 

They all stay out in the living room for a little while longer before Mary Margaret has the sense for all of them to start drinking some water, passing around water bottles to everyone, and Emma swears the woman downed half the bottle of whiskey. How is she still such a mom friend?

 

Eventually she and Killian stumble (Killian more than her, surprisingly enough) back to their room, and he collapses on top of her, laying sloppy, wet kisses against her face that have her giggling beneath him. He’s usually a much more responsible drinker, and damn can he usually hold his liquor, but he indulged a bit more tonight than she thought he did.

 

“Oh, Emma,” he sighs against her mouth before flipping over and collapsing on his back, “I love you so bloody much. You’re so pretty with your long blonde hair and your green eyes and those freckles all over your face.” He reaches his hand out to run his fingers over her lips, and she can’t wait to tell him he did all this in the morning if he remembers it. He’s not slurring his words, so she’s pretty sure he’ll remember. “And your lips are so soft and pink. I love them, too.”

 

She flips over on her stomach and starts running her hands through his hair, his eyes fluttering closed at the contact while his breathing calms, sleep catching up to him faster than she expected.

 

“You didn’t say it back.”

 

“What?”

 

He opens one eye while this dopey, tired grin graces his face. “You didn’t say you love me, too.”

 

Oh boy does she hope he remembers this in the morning. “I love you, Killian Jones.” She leans down to kiss between his eyes. “Go to sleep.”


	13. Chapter Thirteen

“I love you, Killian Jones.” He feels Emma place a kiss between his eyes before flipping over to her side of the bed, and even if things are a bit fuzzy, he knows that’s not quite right. “Go to sleep.”

 

“Emma,” he mumbles, patting the mattress until he finds her skin, hot against his fingertips as he pulls her back into his side and starts kissing down the back of her neck, “you’re too far away.”

 

“Killian,” she sighs, and that’s a pretty sound. She’s so pretty. Beautiful really. Like a swan…she _is_ a Swan. That must be why Liam calls her Birdie. Maybe he should call her Birdie. That’d probably piss Liam off, and that’s always so fun to do. “The power is out. There’s no air conditioning. It’s too hot to have you pressed up against me.”

 

“I think you want it to be hot while I’m pressed up against you.”

 

He feels more than sees her flip over to face him, and it’s the same when her fingers start caressing his face, running over his skin and pushing his damp, sweat-soaked hair off of his forehead.

 

“I have seen you drunk many a time, and you’ve never been like this.”

 

“Like what?’

 

“Be so needy, affectionate,” she chuckles while still running her fingers through his hair, and _oh gods that feels good_.

 

“I couldn’t kiss you before.”

 

“You’re still romantic,” she sighs, leaning in to press a kiss against his lips, and why didn’t she stay there longer? “I like that.”

 

“I like _you_.”

 

“Yeah, I got that. You need to take some Advil, or you’re going to be pissy in the morning. Hold on.” Emma’s suddenly crawling over him, her stomach pressed against him while she seems to be ruffling through her bag on the ground for something. Probably the Advil she just mentioned, and holy hell, it _is_ hot in here. She crawls back up into the bed and puts the pills in his hand, before grabbing her water bottle off the bedside table. “Take these, and these on the table are for you in the morning.”

 

He swallows the pills before thinking that maybe he should have saved one for Emma. “Do you need some?”

 

“I didn’t drink as much as you, Captain Morgan.”

 

“Ah.” She’s pulling her hair up into a bun, completely exposing her neck, and he wonders if she’d let him kiss it again. She has very soft skin. “Can I kiss you?”

 

“One time, and then you have to go to bed, okay?”

 

She leans down and over to press a chaste kiss against his lips, but he’s having none of that, capturing her bottom lip and biting gently, suddenly more aware of his surroundings than he has been in the past few hours. Emma anchors her hands in his hair while he finds her hips and pulls her closer so that their bodies are pressed together, and when he runs his tongue against the seam of Emma’s lips, she tastes like beer. He probably tastes like the entire goddamn distillery or brewery or wherever it is that they make alcohol.

 

Emma pulls back from him before his tongue can truly gain entrance. “Goodnight again, Killian. For real this time.”

 

When he wakes up in the morning his head is pounding, like a jackhammer is hitting at his temple, and he can feel the sweat dripping off his body and pooling at his back and his forehead. Why is it so goddamn hot? Suddenly he remembers that the power is out which means the air conditioning isn’t working. Right, right. That’s what Emma said last night. He opens an eye and sees Emma halfway spread across him, and didn’t she say he couldn’t do that to her last night?

 

Oh gods, last night. He was a blubbering, affectionate idiot last night, and why hasn’t Emma run as far as she can from him?

 

He can’t really move out of the bed without disturbing Emma, but he needs something for this hangover and he really wants to know what time it is because he kind of feels like years have passed in the last few hours. He finds his phone on the bedside table along with two tablets, and bless Emma Swan for thinking ahead. She deserves all of the good things in life.

 

“Stop moving,” she mumbles against his stomach, and there goes his plan of not disturbing Emma.

 

He pops the pills in his mouth and swallows them with a chug of water before rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and trying to adjust to being awake. He could very well try to go back to sleep, but he needs food. Food and coffee.

 

“I’m going to go out and get us coffee and food because the power is still out, and nothing works. Plus, I need some bloody air.”

 

“I can come with you,” she sighs even as she nestles herself further into his stomach. “You’re probably hungover, and I can drive.”

 

He runs his hands down her back, messing with the tips of her hair, and she’s not seriously going to come with him, is she? He could understand her words, but they were mumbled under her breath and slightly incoherent.

 

“You’re tired.”

 

“Yeah, but you’re promising me hot coffee and food and air. All necessities in life.”

 

So he and Emma both stumble out of bed and get dressed, taking much longer than usual in the darkness of the room and with their heads the slightest bit foggy and their bodies coated in a sheen of sweat that makes it difficult for Emma to shimmy into a new pair of leggings. They have to quietly sneak out into the living room where Liam’s passed out snoring in a recliner and Ruby is halfway hanging off the couch, some of the windows cracked to let the air in even as the rain continues to fall. Killian sees Liam twitch slightly when Emma trips over a shoe, but they manage not to wake anyone up.

 

He ends up driving, his mind clearing up the longer he’s awake, and the moment he finds a coffee shop, he pulls over on the side of the road and heads inside, thanking God that this place also has food and air conditioning as soon as he feels the rush of cool air and the smell of coffee beans.

 

“Do we order for everyone or just us?”

 

“Just us right now,” Emma answers while she’s perusing the menu. “We can sit in here and eat and then order them something for all of them on the way out.”

 

“Wow, so intelligent so early in the morning.”

 

“It’s ten thirty,” the barista snarks, and even if Killian has spent the past year of his life serving people drinks and understands the want to be snarky with some customers, he’s not here for the sarcasm today, so he simply gets he and Emma two coffees and some egg sandwiches before they sit at one of the booths in the back of the shop.

 

The two of them are silent for a few minutes while they sip on their coffee, and Killian can already feel his headache starting to subside. He should not have had that much to drink, and he really should have found a better way to pass the time than literally blurring things out from alcohol.

 

His phone vibrates from its spot on the table, and he swipes the screen to see that Evelyn says the power company is working on the lines right now to try to restore power to their row of beach houses.

 

“The power should be back on soon,” he tells Emma while her face is hidden by her coffee cup as she got the largest size available like a woman starved of caffeine, “so at least today while we’re stuck inside, we’ll have air conditioning, and, you know, working appliances.”

 

“It figures that we go on vacation to the beach, and it storms while we’re here. Kind of sucks.”

 

“Hey,” he soothes before reaching over the table and taking Emma’s hand in his, “this is still the best vacation of my life.”

 

She looks down at the table, and he quickly squeezes her hand so that she’ll look back up at him. “You know, Killian Jones, you are extra corny now. I didn’t think it was possible, but it is.”

 

“Well, I have to impress you with my flirtations now. Someone declared that we were never having sex again, so I’ve got to find a way to keep things spicy in this, uh…what are we calling us?”

 

Emma shrugs, and just as the blush is rising on her cheeks, the same is happening to him. “Friends with a one and a half time benefit thing.”

 

Killian raises a singular eyebrow, and he really has to stop doing that instead of speaking. “That sounds a bit long to say every time I have to address you, but whatever floats your boat, Swan.”

 

So they finish eating their breakfast before ordering themselves a second round of coffee and coffee for their friends, loading back up into the jeep and returning to the house.

 

He’s just getting out of the jeep when Emma reaches over him to stop his movements. “What – what are you doing?”

 

“I am enjoying a quiet moment that we’re not likely to get once we go inside.”

 

At that she takes the coffees and food from the center console and moves them to his backseat before climbing over the console herself and settling her knees on either side of his lap, cursing under her breath when her knee hits the metal of the console as she’s trying to settle down onto him. He laughs at her struggle while grabbing onto her hips to help adjust her in his lap. When she glares at him for laughing, he knows that they might forever be “friends with a one and a half time benefit thing” for the rest of his days if he keeps this up.

 

“This is not as sexy as it looks on TV.”

 

“You telling me you’ve never made out in a car before, Swan?”

 

“I have,” she tells him as she lightly pecks his lips, teasing him before pulling back, “and I’m pretty sure I got a concussion from it one time. Also, you’re really ruining the mood here, Jones.”

 

At that she dips her head to truly capture his lips, nibbling a bit on his bottom lip before swiping her tongue across it and asking for entrance. He’s not an idiot, so he obviously grants her entrance, tangling his tongue with hers while his hands continue to creep up her back, feeling the soft skin under the pads of his fingers.

 

It’s been a long time since he simply made out with someone, knowing that they can’t go any further, and it makes him feel like he’s a teenager again. The fact that his teenage self would flip out over the fact that it’s Emma rolling her hips against his while her lips devour his own doesn’t help his excitement, and he’s really not going to be able to contain himself if she keeps moving above him like she’s doing.

 

“Emma,” he groans when he has to pull back to breathe, and her lips chase after him in a way that makes him want to groan the slightest bit. “Emma, we have to stop.”

 

“Why?”

 

She’s pouting with kiss swollen lips, a bit of scruff burn on her chin, and he could get used to that sight. She starts grinding down onto his lap again, and it makes it difficult for him to speak again because _fuck that feels good_.

 

“Because I don’t know about you, love, but I don’t fancy getting arrested for having sex in public. Hell, we already get caught when in private.”

 

She laughs before leaning her forehead against his, her nose hitting against his while she nods.

 

“When we get home, I live in an apartment all by myself, and you and me Killian Jones, we’re going to be more than a one time thing.”

 

“More than a one and a half time thing, you mean.”

 

“Aye,” she jokes, kissing him one more time before reaching for the umbrella and climbing off of his lap and out of the car, waiting for him to get out so they can get everyone’s coffee and food and head inside.

 

They walk inside to find that power has returned, and everyone but Mary Margaret is still asleep. He and Emma make the rounds waking people up, and only once is he in fear of his life…when David threatens to poke his eye out with his keys. Everyone is much happier to see them once they tell them they come with food and coffee.

 

“Did you guys just get back?” Liam questions while he takes a sip.

 

“Yeah? Why?”

 

“Then why is the coffee cold?”

 

“They probably did it in the car or something so we couldn’t hear them and the coffee got cold then.”

 

Emma flicks Ruby on the ear, and she’s gone all red, something Ruby doesn’t fail to notice, teasing the both of them before drinking the cold coffee…which isn’t even that cold.

 

The rain stays constant all day, never relenting as it pounds against the roof of the house, but at least the power stays on so that the group of them can stay huddled around the television covered in blankets like last night. This time, though, there’s no alcohol, all of them trying not to make a repeat of their drunken night, even if no one did anything particularly stupid. At least, not that anyone is saying.

 

Emma falls asleep against his chest, and while that’s nothing new, it feels like it is. He’s waited for her for what feels like his entire life, and even if he knows they’re still young, he likes where they’re headed if this weekend is any indication.

 

He slides Emma out of his embrace an hour later so that he can sit in the chair by the window and watch the rain fall outside, something he’s done since he was younger. It’s soothing, really, seeing the water falling from the sky mixing with the salt water of the ocean, and as he looks out at the two blues, he sees someone running along the beach with their dog hooked on a leash, paws kicking up sand and sea as the dog happily frolics with its owner.

 

He feels Emma slide into his lap before he sees her, and his arms instinctively go around her waist to hold her to him. This is a hell of a lot more comfortable than the front seat of his jeep.

 

“Did you have a good nap, love?”

 

“Yeah,” she sighs against his neck before resting her head against his shoulder. “I don’t want to go home tomorrow. This has been nice, even with the rain.”

 

“Aye, it has been. But things will be nice when we go home as well. We have things to do, my love. I recall something about an empty apartment.”

 

“Ah yes,” she agrees, nodding her head against him before placing a kiss on his jaw, “I like that idea.”

 

The two of them continue to watch the rain fall and the dog play in the sea, his blonde fur soaking in the water until it looks almost black as it drips with the salt water.

 

As everyone is packing their bags late the next afternoon, having spent the day outside in the sun even if the temperature dipped below beach weather as a result of the storm, Killian takes a moment just to watch Emma as she hastily stuffs all of her things back into the three bags she came with. She can’t get one of them to zip up, and he has to bite his tongue to keep from telling her that if she folded her sweaters it’d close without snagging on the material. Eventually she does get it, hauling the bags up onto their bed and letting out a cheer of triumph before turning to face him, a large smile on her face.

 

“You ready to go, my love?”

 

“Yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's it! I feel kind of weird ending my first big multi chapter, and while I could go on forever, this little story has been told! I'll post the epilogue when I write it. I hope you guys enjoyed this, and I've learned a lot since I started writing it. There's a lot that I'd change, but, you know, learning takes lessons and practice, and this has been a hell of a lot of fun :D


	14. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised I wouldn't forget to add an epilogue! Even if it did take me over a month :D

It’s been a, well, it’s been an interesting few years.

 

They returned from the beach house the summer after graduation and reveled in simply being able to be them in between Emma’s part-time job as a waitress until school began and Killian’s start at Woodard and Curran. That first weekend, or day really, had been the beginnings of an exploration of the new side of their relationship, and as much as they loved how things changed, it still took weeks to get into a rhythm they were comfortable with.

 

She felt like some kind of cheesy romantic comedy where friends became lovers and they rode off into the sunset on horseback or in a nice car that neither of them could afford. Okay, so it wasn’t like that exactly. There were, of course, sunsets, and while she would often see them on her walk to Killian and Liam’s new apartment, she wasn’t riding off into them. But some things are better than that.

 

Much better.

 

Most mornings she’d wake up with Killian’s furry, because they most definitely are furry, legs tangled with her bare ones, her feet tucked in between his warm calves with her body either resting on his chest or on her side of the bed. Killian would wake up complaining about how damn cold her feet were nearly every morning that she slept over, and she’d proceed to run them against the length of his body, making him groan before flipping over and on top of her, often resulting in one of two things: Killian tickling her sides because she hates that or wonderful, wonderful morning sex much to Liam’s dismay as his bedroom was next door.

 

She was so deeply in love, still is, but as with being in love, everything isn’t always riding off into the sunset…or waking up with your ice cold feet being warmed between your boyfriend’s legs. There were fights, some as mild as Killian nitpicking how she folds shirts or her complaining about how Killian can forget to call and cancel dinner plans when he gets too obsessive over a project at work. There were also fights a little bigger than that, disagreements over big decisions like when to move in together or how Killian made more money than her and could afford to do more things while she couldn’t.

 

But that was normal. Relationships are difficult, and it’s not always going to be easy. It’s worth it, though, when your best friend is by your side even when they’re your opposing force.

 

Years passed, jobs changed, she went back to school for her Masters, and they officially moved in together after being together for four years after Liam moved to Boston to be with his wife. It was weird not having Liam’s presence around all of the time, but it also meant that she and Killian could walk around the apartment clothed a little less than would be acceptable with Liam around. There was an incident on the living room couch that had Liam threatening to put a plastic cover over the leather material.

 

Liam did not take the couch when he moved in with Lauren.

 

Right now, though, she’s simply dressed in a tee shirt, her suntanned legs bare of any clothing, as she cradles a cup of coffee watching the sun rise over the ocean, coating the white sands in an orange glow. So yeah, maybe there’s the occasional sunrise and sunset.

 

They’re back at the beach house, the one they’d gotten together in five years ago, and she knows for a fact that Killian has a diamond ring in his suitcase side pocket. She hadn’t meant to find it, but she was looking for a pair of his socks, hers not keeping her warm enough, and the black velvet box had been inside of a pair. She didn’t actually look inside, so while they could be earrings or something else, she’s got a pretty good hunch.

 

So maybe not a fact but a hunch.

 

“Mmmm,” Killian hums, causing her to turn her head and look at him leaving the bedroom, his hair sticking up all over the place and his sweatpants wrinkled as he stretches his arms above his head, showing off his lean muscles and tanned skin, the dark hair of his chest running a trail that she loves to trace.

 

“G’morning, babe,” she whispers, titling her head and asking him to come join her in her seat, lifting up one side of her body so that he can slide underneath her, his warmth enveloping her as his arms wrap around her stomach and his unshaven chin nestles into her neck, causing a shiver to run through her body. “You sleep okay?”

 

“I did,” he whispers, placing a kiss under her ear, her entire body pulsing at the touch. The man knows exactly what he’s doing, and she both loves him and hates him for it. Okay, so she mostly just loves him. “What are you doing up so early?”

 

“Couldn’t sleep. You snore.”

 

“Swan, you know that’s not true.”

 

“Maybe it is. Maybe it isn’t. Only I know.”

 

“Okay,” he chuckles, pressing another kiss into her skin, “if I snore then you talk in your sleep.”

 

She slaps his leg, her coffee jostling in its mug. “I do not.”

 

“Maybe you do. Maybe you don’t. Only I know.”

 

Laughter passes between her lips as she puts her coffee down onto the side table, the sun almost fully in the sky and the colors of the beach returning to normal, before she turns in Killian’s lap so that she’s facing him, arms wrapping around his neck and she briefly presses her lips against his.

 

“Thank you for bringing me back here.”

 

“Well, I kind of thought it would be nice to have just you and me, no brothers who don’t know how to knock on bedroom doors or friends who are on the wrong side of nosy.”

  
“When you think about it, Liam has seen a little too much of our sex life.”

 

“Aye. I think he’s more scarred than we are, though. Remember that week where he didn’t make eye contact with you?”

 

She snorts, actually snorts, before resting her forehead against Killian’s and pressing a kiss against his nose while his thumb moves in circles against the skin of her thigh.

 

“I do. That was a fun time. I kind of miss him.”

 

“Me, too. But he’ll be in Portland when we come home.”

 

“Did he say why he was visiting? Is Lauren pregnant? Oh my God is there going to be a Jones kid running around?”

 

“She’s not pregnant. Just a visit, love.”

 

“Darn.”

 

“Why, love?” he teases, poking her in her stomach before moving to the spot that always causes her body to convulse in laughter. “You hankering for some Jones babies? Because, you know, we could always produce those if Liam takes too long.”

 

“In the future,” she promises, kissing him again, this time a little deeper. “I like just you and me for now.”

 

“Aye, in the future.”

 

They spend the day out on the beach, the sun beating down on their skin, causing it to turn pink despite the amount of lotion they both put on over and over again. It’s packed today, the summer crowd coming out in full to appreciate the heat of Maine in July. There are no storms on the horizon, simply sunshine and sparkling salt water that’s the perfect temperature for swimming. She and Killian wade out into the ocean, the water clinging to the hair of his chest as the tips of her strands get soaked while she clings onto him, legs wrapped around his waist and arms wrapped around his neck, fingers carding through the hair at his neck.

 

“I like this whole vacation thing. We should do it more often.”

 

“There’s a little thing called jobs, darling.”

 

“Eh,” she groans, rolling her hips against his in a way that’s most definitely not appropriate for such a public setting, “they don’t matter.”

 

“I think you’ve had a sun stroke.” He runs his fingers across her sides, moving up to rub at her nipples under her bikini top, the rough pads causing them to harden and for heat to pool in her belly. “You’re playing with fire, love. You can’t be moving your hips that way. There are children on the beach that I have to walk by.”

 

“That sounds like a personal problem.”

 

“You’re a personal problem.”

 

She snorts before kissing his cheek, some of the heat dissolving. “That was not your best work in the joke department.”

 

After Killian has calmed himself down, they wade back to the shore, water droplets falling off of them until they reach their towels, wrapping themselves in them before packing up all of their things and heading back to the house, swimsuits discarded as they roll around in bed, sweat mixing in with salt water as Killian slowly, lazily thrusts into her, his hips moving with hers as they languidly kiss, tongues circling each other in ways that make her entire body feel loose as Killian’s chest hair brushes over her chest.

 

It’s been like that all week, slowly sinking into each other and taking the time to enjoy it, not worrying about reaching a peak until their bodies are so tense that they can’t think of anything else but finding release.

 

Later, once they’ve showered and the sheets have been thrown into the wash, sand seemingly trailing after them everywhere, they’re sitting on the couch, Killian’s head resting in her lap while she plays with his hair, running her hands through the soft, wet strands.

 

“You know,” Killian muses, twisting his body so that he’s looking up at her, “this is the same couch where we had our first kiss.”

 

“I do know that. It was a good kiss.”

 

“I mean, it was okay.” She slaps the back of his head, only for him to reach around and grab her wrist, bringing it around and kissing the knuckles of her left hand. “It was wonderful, the best bloody moment of my life.”

 

“Of your entire life?”

 

“Well, there are others that I like equally as much.”

 

“Like what?”

 

Killian hums, resting her hand over his chest and running his thumb back and forth in smooth circles. “Well, for one, there was the day we met during that summer program. There was also the time you tripped on the way to the bus on the first day of classes. That was bloody hilarious.” He grips her wrist more tightly so that she can’t slap him. “And then there was the time you told me you loved me back. That was right after the kiss, but still a completely different moment. There was also a day when you had the week off of work, and you came to eat lunch with me down by the docks. There was nothing particularly special about it, but I really loved that day.”

 

“Such a sap.”

 

“A sap who you love.”

 

“I do love you. I really love your sappy tendencies, too.”

 

“Good,” Killian releases her hand to reach down into the pocket of his pants, pulling out the black box she accidentally saw earlier, and her heart practically beats out of her chest, her body burning in a way that has nothing to do with the sun, “because I love you, Emma Swan, and I’d really love for you to be my wife. So what do you say, love? Will you marry me?”

 

She simply nods her head up and down, her body shaking with excitement as her lips stretch out in a smile, before leaning down and capturing Killian’s lips with hers, feeling him rearrange himself until they’ve got a better angle, deepening the kiss until she has to come up for air.

 

He looks so beautiful right now, his eyes still so bright despite the blackness of desire clouding them, and a smile that she’d like to see every day for the rest of her life. Hopefully she will.

 

“Can I take that as a yes?”

 

She smiles before resting her forehead against his and cupping his face, feeling the scruff underneath her fingertips. “It’s a resounding yes.”

 

Seven months later, give or take a day, she’s standing on the beach outside of that very same house in a white dress that flows in the wind with a husband who has been her constant companion since they were eleven years old.

 

Killian adds it to his list of best days.


End file.
